


A Sliver of A Poisoned Apple

by roryheadmav



Category: Hollow Crown (2012), Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: Crossover, Halric, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:58:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ravenna may have been defeated by Snow White and Eric the Huntsman, but her evil lives on. Now, her shade has escaped from the kingdom and has taken root in England. Snow White sends Eric on a mission to London to bring Ravenna back and to protect the heir of King Henry IV from her evil influence. (*NOW WITH IMAGES BY MADARA-NYCTERIS! <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I must confess that I never intended to write this particular story, although it has been on my mind ever since I was finally able to watch "Snow White and the Huntsman" a couple of weeks ago. I'm really supposed to be doing work on the book, but I just can't this story out of my head. In order to keep my muses quiet for a bit, I ended up writing this Prologue. Of course, completing "Frog Prince" is still my priority. Not to mention, there's also "Five Sins". And there's the fact that I'm closely tying up this story with both Shakespeare's plays and historical fact. So please don't expect me to update this fic as promptly as the others. 
> 
> Still, I hope you would drop a line or two of feedback. Maybe I will be enticed to come up with chapters sooner. Anyway, I hope you like this tantalizing introduction of this story. Sorry if there are any errors. I've been making this secretly in between editing the manuscript for the book. Don't want my boss to catch me. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with a BEAUTIFUL cover art by Madara-Nycteris! *absolutely speechless* <3 <3 <3 Love you for this, dear! It's so gorgeous!!

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright November 21, 2012 By Rory**

****

**Prologue**

 

Once upon a time, the kingdom of Tabor had been a prosperous realm wherein humans lived in perfect peace and harmony with the fairy folk. Its sovereign King Magnus, his wife Queen Eleanor, and their daughter Snow White were much loved and respected by all in the kingdom.

 

But then, Queen Eleanor died following a lingering illness. The King, who languished in grief and loneliness for his beloved, fell to the false charms of a beautiful woman named Ravenna, whom he rescued from a Dark Army of glass soldiers. King Magnus never knew that the charming woman was actually a sorceress who was determined to claim his kingdom for her own. The realization came too late when Ravenna plunged a dagger into his heart right on their wedding bed.

 

With her Dark Army, Ravenna's conquest of the kingdom had been swift and merciless. Poor Snow White, unable to escape with her childhood friend William, the son of Duke Hammond of Carmathan, was locked up in a tower. The princess could only watch in sadness and horror as her beloved kingdom was driven to ruins by Ravenna's insatiable lust for power, beauty and immortality.

 

It was this desire for eternal beauty which ultimately led to Ravenna's downfall. Learning that consuming Snow White's heart can keep her young and beautiful forever, she entrusted her brother Finn to bring the princess to her. Snow White, however, was smarter than the lascivious Finn, and escaped from her prison and the castle itself.

 

Later, Ravenna would enlist the services of the Huntsman named Eric, promising to resurrect his beloved wife Sarah if he would successfully bring Snow White back to her. Never did she expect that the Huntsman would ally himself with the princess. With the help of eight hardy Dwarves and William, they were able to elude Ravenna's men. There was a moment when the evil queen thought that she had gained victory when Snow White unwittingly ate the poisoned apple that she—in the disguise of William—gave to her. Ironically, it would take the kiss of the Huntsman to break the spell.

 

Following a furious battle, Ravenna's Dark Army was vanquished and the evil queen herself was defeated by Snow White with a sword's blade thrust to her cruel, miserable heart. With Ravenna gone, everyone believed that they were rid of her evil forever.

 

But this was not to be the case.

 

As Snow White later learned, Ravenna's dark shade persisted throughout the land, making recovery of the kingdom slow and painful for its citizens. Through the great magic of the fairy folk, Ravenna's shade was confined within a small corner of the kingdom and Tabor itself was separated from the mortal world to prevent her evil from spreading. As humanity moved on, Tabor retained its immortality. With time, the kingdom itself became lost in myth and legend.

 

However, just because Tabor was no longer part of the human world, it did not mean that it was not interested in that which they have left behind. Snow White would watch through Ravenna's mirror how the world outside moved on. To her great sorrow, the world of mortals remained rife with wars and discord thanks to greed and politics. Troubled as it was, it certainly did not need the shade of Ravenna poisoning it even more.

 

Then, one overcast morning, Queen Snow White was gazing into the mirror, asking it her usual question, "How goes the world of men today, Mirror?"

 

The mirror oozed down in a thick puddle of quicksilver at her feet and then rising to form a gleaming hooded figure. "I bring bad tidings to you, Your Majesty. She has escaped and is now loose in the mortal world."

 

Snow White turned pale at this dreadful news. They were foolish to underestimate Ravenna's dark magic. Swallowing hard, she ordered, "Tell me more, Mirror."

 

That same day, Snow White summoned the one man she could trust with this matter. Eric was tall and proud as he marched into her throne room. He had not changed much since she last saw him. What lingered, however, was the deep sorrow in his blue eyes. It did not surprise her that he still mourned for his lost wife and the young girl to whom he had also given his kiss and his heart. If it were not for the differences in their rank, she would have married him and eased his loneliness. But, alas, she was promised to William, and for the good of the kingdom, it was William whom she married.

 

Going down on one knee and bowing to her in obeisance, Eric said in his rough brogue, "I attend to yer summons, my Queen. Speak to me of yer need an' I shall do everything in my power to assist you."

 

"I'm afraid, my dear friend, that the tidings I give you are dire indeed," Snow White cannot hide the concern in her voice. "Ravenna's shade has escaped the confines of her prison."

 

Eric's head went up at that revelation. "But how?"

 

"Even the fairies know not how she freed herself from the wards. She has fled to the realm of mortals where, as we speak, she now brings anarchy, destruction and death to the land by afflicting its rulers with her evil. One mad king has already been brought down through a most heinous rebellion. The ruler who has taken the throne in his place is now being similarly beleaguered by rebellion from all corners of the land. This king himself is also being tainted by Ravenna, manifesting itself as an illness which seeks to rob him of his mind as it did his predecessor. It is only through his iron will that he fights her influence, but one cannot tell how long his strength would last. The mirror tells me that Ravenna has her eye on his heir. If her evil should corrupt even the one who would next be king…"

 

"What is it you wish me to do?"

 

"You must go to the mortal world—protect the king's heir and bring Ravenna's shade back to Tabor. It is only here that her evil can be contained and, hopefully, purged once and for all." Snow White stood up from her throne and went down the steps. She reached out with both hands and bade the Huntsman to get up. "Eric, my dearest friend, 'tis my wish to spare you from further heartbreak. But I must tell you now. This mission…'tis a most complicated, trying matter. You may decline, if you wish."

 

Eric gave her that familiar, pained smile. "How can I decline, knowin' that the wretched sorceress who caused me to be parted from my Sarah is now roamin' the human world? I will not let her do to others what she has done to me an' to you."

 

Snow White nodded, seeing the firm determination in his eyes. From within the folds of her gown, she pressed a small pouch into his hands. "Take this, Eric. You will have need of this where you go."

 

"What is this?" he asked, feeling the roundness of the pouch.

 

"It is a poisoned apple, the same one that Ravenna had given to me." Noting the frown on the Huntman's face, she continued, "I am afraid I cannot say why it is necessary that you bring this apple with you. But you will know when to use it."

 

Trusting Snow White's judgment, Eric hid the apple inside his pack. "I shall leave first thing tomorrow, My Queen. Please just have the fairies open the portal for me at the edge of the Dark Forest."

 

"I shall make the request of them immediately."

 

Minutes later, Snow White watched from the throne room window as Eric walked with strong strides across the courtyard. A gentle hand was laid on her shoulder, and she turned to behold the sorrowful face of her husband.

 

"You did not tell Eric," William said. It was a statement, not a question.

 

Snow White sighed, laying her fingers over her husband's hand. "How can I tell him that his dearest Sarah is reborn in the realm of humans? That she is now the king's heir he is tasked to protect? No, William. It is better that he does not know the truth. The Fates only know what is to become of the king's heir, and I cannot have Eric grieving for her a second time."

 

William gave her a comforting kiss on the cheek. "As usual, I am in accord with your decision. But I wonder, given how much Eric loves Sarah, would it not be possible that his heart would sense what his eyes would not see?"

 

A small smile went up the corners of Snow White's lips. "Then, I suppose we can only trust in their hearts that they would find each other and they would be granted the happy ending that was denied them."


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update comes slower than I expected, and it's not just because of work. I was having some apprehensions about writing the dialogue in the style of Shakespeare. I know I COULD do it; after all, I did write an entire Highlander slash fic in Shakespearean style. But most of the readers then complained that they couldn't understand the dialogue, although there were a few who have read the Bard's plays and have commented that the fic in question was excellent writing. For this reason, I decided to keep the dialogue simpler. You will notice this in my version of Shakespeare's monologue "I Know You All."
> 
> I don't have the time to edit this, unfortunately, since I have a meeting today. But I'll give this chapter a look over in the next few days.

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright December 28, 2012 by Rory**

**Chapter 1**

 

It has been so many long years since Eric last visited London. But never did he imagine that he would be struck with such an intense feeling of déjà vu as when he stepped into the city proper itself. He could not quell the shudder that gripped his being upon beholding the squalid conditions of England's seat of royalty. The filth of the city, disturbing reports of rebellion and civil war, the rampant lawlessness and drunkenness of its citizens…it reminded him too much of Tabor when the kingdom was still under the rule of Queen Ravenna. Indeed, there was no mistaking the fact that Ravenna's dark shade has seized England in its merciless grip.

 

For awhile, Eric wondered if he was up to the formidable task that Snow White had set for him.

 

Fighting the urge to give in to negativism, the Huntsman decided to set his mind on his mission. He first purchased a small home in the woods—for he still preferred his solitude—with the gold that Snow White had given him. His next order of business was to secure a hunting license from the castle. This was easily accomplished through a letter of reference written by Duke Hammond to his distant cousin, the Earl of Westmoreland. Old Westmoreland was more than pleased to hear news about his cousin, whom he believed to have immigrated to a foreign land (which could not be further from the truth).

 

The Earl later introduced the Huntsman to Henry Bolingbroke, King Henry IV himself. At that moment, the King was speaking to his advisers, particularly enthusiastic by the prospect of at last being able to go on a Crusade to the Holy Land as his predecessors had done. Eric has long thought of the Crusades to be a lost cause. However, when he and Westmoreland were finally alone with the monarch, the King turned his eyes upon him to ask for his opinion. It was then that Eric understood the necessity behind this campaign.

 

"What say you, young man?" King Henry IV inquired of him. "Should not England pursue its just cause once more to free the Holy Land from the grip of the Saracens?"

 

As he met King Henry's rheumy gaze, there was the unmistakable shadow lurking within his pupils, daring the Huntsman to answer.

 

Despite his apprehensions, Eric chose honesty. "I believe that Your Majesty should set his wisdom an' his sword upon the concerns of his realm than that of a foreign land. But then again, I have heard it said that one's sins…demons…can be purged from his soul if he were to enter the land where Christ was crucified and buried."

 

It was with that last cautious statement that the King reached out and caught his hands in a tight, desperate grip. "Then, you believe? That I could be…purged?"

 

 _He knows,_ Eric thought with a barely stifled gasp. _He knows of the shade that has consumed his being._

 

Eric squeezed the monarch's hand reassuringly, a warm smile going up the corners of his lips. "I believe that you can be purged through the good that you can do for your people. An' I know that you are a good king."

 

"Am I, Huntsman? Am I truly a good king?" There was a glimmer of tears in Henry's eyes as he patted the Huntsman's arm. "I know that I have committed many mistakes, so many sins." The King swallowed hard and his voice quivered as he added, "As a father, I too am a failure. I have not been the shining example of fatherhood to my son Harry, who has chosen to emulate the disreputable ways of those who revel in drunkenness and thievery."

 

"But you have other sons, My Liege. Surely you can take greater pride in them than your wayward offspring."

 

"And I do, Huntsman. Believe me I do. But my Harry…he is to take the throne after me. How can I trust him with my kingdom, my people, knowing the man that he is now?"

 

Eric's lips were set in a grim line. If the crown prince has been corrupted by Ravenna's shade as well, he was all the more determined now to see him set a-right. "All shall be well, Your Majesty," he said firmly. "Trust in God that He shall make your beloved son see the light."

 

King Henry smiled weakly, nodding. "Thank you, Huntsman," he mumbled, his voice choked with emotion. "Thank you."

 

Eric waited only for half an hour before Westmoreland returned with the royal hunting license.

 

The Earl shook his hand in deepest gratitude. "I should give you my thanks as well, young man. My King has been ill these past few months. Add the burden of the throne and the matter with Prince Hal, I never thought I would see him smile again. You have given him something that we his advisers have offered him many times, but which he refused to accept. Faith and hope. Perhaps you can give the same to the King's sons. My Liege has requested that you accompany them when they hunt."

 

Eric gave Westmoreland a sincere bow. "It would be an honor, My Lord."

 

It would take a full week before Eric received the summons from the castle for him to join the princes in a hunt. To his dismay, the elusive Prince Hal did not participate in the hunt. But, he learned more about the heir apparent through his younger brothers.

 

Thomas, the Duke of Clarence, made a face as his arrow went way above the stag's head and embedded itself in a tree. "That is the most embarrassing shot I have made today."

 

"You try too hard, Brother," Humphrey, the Duke of Gloucester, snorted down a laugh. "If Hal were here, he'd show you the best way to bring down yonder stag without a bow and arrow."

 

"Which would probably be digging holes in the ground, seeing that Thomas cannot hit the broadside of a barn," Prince John, the Duke of Lancaster, said with a chuckle. Noticing the curious look that the Huntsman was giving him, the young prince explained, "Our eldest brother Prince Hal is an excellent archer. You would have seen him for yourself, if he only deigned to grace us with his presence on the hunt today."

 

"Where is His Royal Highness?" Eric inquired politely.

 

"If I were to hazard a guess, he would probably be in Eastcheap right now, carousing with Sir John Falstaff and his merry thieves at The Boar's Head tavern." John said this with a roll of his eyes, clearly accustomed to his oldest brother's habits.

 

The Huntsman could not help frowning at that reply. "That doesn't seem…princely."

 

"We don't want to judge Hal, as our father and so many of his advisers have done," Thomas stressed. "Before he started to associate himself with Ned Poins and Falstaff, we were inseparable as siblings. And we are all too aware of the internal turmoil that he has been suffering from."

 

"It is most inconvenient and distressing for Hal to be constantly reminded by everyone that he will soon inherit the throne," Humphrey explained further. "Our father's illness has only impressed that unsavory future to him even more."

 

John reined his steed over to Eric's mount. "Do not believe what people say about our brother, Huntsman. Hal always does things for a reason. If his…activities…seem to put him in a scandalous light, all I can say is that there must be a motive behind his behavior. Unfortunately, none of us understands what exactly he is trying to accomplish by keeping such unruly company."

 

Despite Prince John's admonition, Eric could not help but feel a bit of disgruntlement toward the crown prince. Yes, there was the strong possibility that he may have already been corrupted by Ravenna's shade. But if he was not, there was no excusing his behavior. His father needed him, and yet he saw it more fit to ally himself with men of questionable character.

 

A day after the hunt, the Huntsman found himself prowling the dingy streets of Eastcheap. He could not contain the moue on his face at the sight of drunken men arm in arm as they weaved and bumped their way through the milling throng who were hoping to purchase wilted cabbages and other vegetables from foul-mouthed sellers for their table tonight. In one corner, he saw a man relieving himself at the front door of an inn, for which he was chased away by an irate innkeeper wielding a broom. So great was the stench of human piss and horse manure, that he could not stop himself from rubbing his nose frequently in the vain attempt of getting rid of the disgusting smell.

 

Suddenly, the scent of gardenias filled the air, banishing the stench of his surroundings. It was a scent that was achingly familiar to Eric, and it caused his heart to give a painful lurch.

 

"Sara?" he breathed out that precious name.

 

The Huntsman whirled around, trying to search for the source of that sweet, fresh scent. But all he could see were women in dirty, wrinkled dresses and men in vomit-stinking shirts.

 

On his next desperate turn, Eric saw him. He was tall, just a shy inch shorter than him, with blond hair that ended in curls just above the collar of his rust-colored leather jacket. As he turned to give a woman a kindly pat on the shoulder, the Huntsman felt the breath catch in his throat at the sight of that handsome face, made even brighter by the warm, genuine smile upon his lips. There was no mistaking who this man was.

 

As Prince Hal continued on his way, Eric hurried after him, pushing his way through the marketers, ignoring their outraged cries at his rudeness. By the time he reached the spot where he had last seen the Prince, Hal was gone.

 

Or so he thought. It was that scent of gardenias that pointed Eric toward a small space, almost hidden by fruit baskets. From within that tight alley, he heard a choked sob. Slowly and carefully so that his presence will not be detected, he pressed his back against the wall and peeked through.

 

Hal was similarly positioned, his back leaning against a stack of crates. Long fingers rubbed eyes that were threatening to shed tears. There was a drunken shout in the distance, and the Prince jerked, only to shake his head bitterly. His voice, though anguished, was as rich and pure as honey.

 

"I know you all," Prince Hal began his heartfelt soliloquy, "and for awhile, I shall uphold the unruly behavior of your disreputable ways. But in this, I shall mimic the sun itself, who allows the dark clouds of corruption to conceal his true worth from the world. Then, when it pleases him to reveal his true self, he shall pierce the foul and ugly mists of corruption that have kept him within its strangling grip. And because people have missed him so very much, even greater would be their impression of him when he again reappears.

 

"If an entire year would be nothing more than holidays, all that playing would be just as tiresome as a year of endless toil. But if such incidents occur rarely, then the more it is awaited, and nothing can be more pleasing than that which seldom comes. So, when I at last throw off this wild behavior and take on the responsibilities of my destiny as king, I would be so much the better man. In this manner, I raise false expectations and hopes. Like a shining metal lying on the putrid earth, my reformation will glitter over my shortcomings and wicked behavior of the past. For now, I will be the perfect example of the lowlife, the unruly, until that time I shall redeem myself when men least expect me to."

 

Thus uttered with such determination, Prince Hal pushed himself upright and strode out of the alley, unaware of the man who had listened to his words.

 

For Eric, however, the Prince's soliloquy only made him even more confused, and—he dared not admit it—caused anger to arise within him as well.

 

"So, this is the man who would be king," the Huntsman muttered under his breath, utterly disappointed. "He consorts with lowlifes to make himself appear the better man. A brilliant scheme it is, My Prince. But you have only shown yourself to be a pathetic user in my eyes."

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it's been a terribly long time since I've written anything. I've been very busy with work. But now, even this job is coming to its end. I must confess that I am feeling very depressed that I am considering resigning from my job because of certain unfair circumstances. Whether I ultimately choose to resign, I have not made a final decision yet. If I do decide to quit, I'll be busy looking for new projects, so I'm not sure what impact that would have on my fic writing.
> 
> In the meantime, here is Chapter 2. My original copy of THE HOLLOW CROWN arrived from England 2 days ago, so I've been watching 1 part per evening. 
> 
> Anyway, being distraught of mind, I have not proofed or edited this completely. So please pardon any errors. Please feel free to comment. :)

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright January 26, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 2**

 

"I don't know what to do."

 

"Is he that bad?"

 

Earlier, Eric had used the silver fairy dust to activate the mirror in his room so that he could communicate with Snow White through her own magic mirror in Tabor. While he was somewhat relieved to see her pretty, concerned face reflected back at him, he was not happy with what he had discovered about the Prince of Wales.

 

"He is an irresponsible drunk," the Huntsman complained, hoping that his voice didn't sound like he was whining. "I've never seen such 'un-princely' behavior in a Royal. No wonder the King is in such despair over him."

 

"But didn't you tell me that this was all just a façade?" Snow White asked curiously. "That he wanted to appear the wastrel in order for his goodness to shine when he at last sheds off this disreputable disguise."

 

"Yes, I heard such a confession from his own lips. And that makes him even worse. He uses other people to make himself look better. If you have only seen how Sir John Falstaff dotes upon him. True, that big tub of lard often speaks ill of the Prince, but one cannot mistake the twinkle in the old man's eyes whenever he beholds Hal, how much he cherishes him as though he were his own son. While Falstaff is far from being an angel, I don't think I could bear to see his heart broken. Why, early this morning, Hal and his devilish companion Ned Poins played a trick on Falstaff. They convinced Falstaff and two of his comrades to rob some pilgrims, only to rob them of their loot in turn. You should have seen how poor Falstaff ran and slipped on the earth, roaring for mercy. To me, it seems like a most cruel trick to play on an old man."

 

"Ah, but that is the way of thieves and robbers. Rob and be robbed in return." Snow White breathed out a sigh. "I cannot presume to know what exactly Prince Hal has on his mind. But I do understand your feelings on this matter, being among the…lowborn…yourself. I could see how the thought of being used by a highborn in such a manner would be distressing to you. However, in a way, I sympathize with Prince Hal. I was kept in a tower for years so I only have an idea on the duties of a Queen. It is only now that I have taken the throne that I have realized what a heavy burden ruling is. For Hal, who has lived within the shadow of England's throne all his life, I could only just imagine the tremendous pressure that is bearing down upon him." She gave her dear friend a sad little smile. "Eric, please. Give the Prince a chance to prove his worth to you. From how you described him to me, I don't think that Ravenna has sunk her claws into him yet. If he will be true to his words, and this…façade…would transform him into a better king, only then should you judge his actions. But, of course, I will not force you to continue with a task that you find distasteful…"

 

"No, no. This is the task that you have set for me to do," Eric said with a shake of his head. "I only wished to share my…discomfiture…with a friend."

 

"Yes, I know, Eric. But believe me when I tell you that this will be for the good of both our realms. Is there something else that you wished to tell me?"

 

The Huntsman gazed into the expectant sparkle in Snow White's eyes. How could she have seen that other matter that was troubling him?

 

"Well," he began reluctantly, "prior to my encountering the Prince, I happened to catch the scent of gardenias in the air."

 

"Gardenias were Sara's favorite flowers, right? You told me she would brush her hair with its oil."

 

Eric nodded as he said ruefully, "You can only just imagine my surprise when I discovered that it was Prince Hal's own honey locks that smelled of that sweet oil." He shrugged, his face contorting in a grimace. "I don't know," he began with great reluctance. "He's lackadaisical manner…it somehow reminds me of my precious Sara when we first met."

 

Snow White burst into laughter, and Eric could not help but noticing that there was a relieved tone in it as well. "Then all the more reason to give Prince Hal a chance. Besides, I think you're already enamored of his sweet-scented 'honey locks'."

 

"HEAVEN FORBID!" Eric exclaimed in grievous affront. "Till next time, Snow."

 

"I'll always be here for you, my friend," Snow White said in reassurance, "whenever you have need of me."

 

With that, the visage of Tabor's Queen vanished from his mirror. Eric tapped his hands on his desk, again finding his resolve to keep an eye on the wayward Prince.

 

However, as soon as he stepped out of his chamber, the Huntsman was greeted by a booming, furious voice that shook the rafters of the castle.

 

"ON MY OATH, EVEN IF THE DEVIL HIMSELF SHOULD COME TO MAKE DEMANDS, I WILL NEVER SEND THOSE PRISONERS TO HIM! AND WHO IS HE TO ORDER ME TO STOP TALKING ABOUT MORTIMER? I WILL SPEAK OF MORTIMER AS MUCH AS I WANT, AND THAT UNGRATEFUL KING, THAT UNGENEROUS BOLINGBROKE CAN DO NOTHING TO STOP ME!"

 

Eric hurried through the hallways. He need not even guess who it was that was making such a heated tirade in full hearing of the king. Harry Percy, Hotspur himself.

 

The Earl of Westmoreland had, days back, told him that Hotspur had captured several Scottish lords, but refused to release them into the custody of the King, demanding ransom for his brother-in-law Edmund Mortimer, the Earl of March who was presently allies with the Welsh rebel, Owen Glendower. Politics being as it was, apparently, Mortimer has claim to the throne from King Henry IV's predecessor Richard II—the monarch whom Bolingbroke himself dethroned in a rebellion.

 

How ironic that the young man whom King Henry IV wished were his son instead of his own Harry was now showing his true stripes.

 

Eric reached the narrow hallway leading to the throne room, only to duck back just as quickly at the sight of a similarly heated Earl of Worcester. It took only but a brief glance for him to also see a fuming Hotspur and his father, the Earl of Northumberland.

 

"I swear, Uncle," Hotspur told Worcester. "I will cast aside all other pursuits and instead plot and scheme on how I could further aggravate that ungrateful oaf Bolingbroke and his lowlife son, the Prince of Wales."

 

"Curb your anger and impatience, son!" Northumberland chided his heir. "Won't you cease your prattling like a woman? Stay your tongue and heed the wisdom from your elders."

 

Worcester bent down toward his nephew, who was seated on a low bench, a bundle of angry, restless energy. "Free your prisoners immediately without ransom. Make allies of Douglas and his knights and assemble an army in Scotland. Your father will also strike an alliance with the Archbishop of York, who remains angered still at the death of his brother Lord Scroop by Bolingbroke's command at Bristol."

 

"What about you?" Hotspur asked his uncle.

 

"There is still much that I must do here, but I will leave as soon as I have finished these tasks." Worcester gave his hotheaded nephew a conniving smirk. "I have…plans…for the Prince of Wales. What better way to bring a disreputable prince into further disfavor with his father the king than to see him sunk so low into the gutter? Hah! By the time I am through with Harry, I don't think he will even have the face to show himself at court, much more sit on the throne of England."

 

Hotspur stood up and clapped his uncle gleefully on his shoulders. "Oh, how I wish I could see the Prince's ruin with my own eyes! But you will give me all the juicy details, eh?"

 

"Oh, I shall, my nephew. I shall." And with that, the three men exited through the other end of the hallway.

 

Poor Eric found himself leaning against the wall, exhaling in exasperation. What more could these schemers do to ruin a Prince's already dubious reputation? But, there was no helping it. He swore to Snow White that he would protect Prince Hal.

 

With a low growl, Eric pushed himself off the wall and made his way out of the castle. "Damn it! Maybe I should just tie a rope around Hal's neck to keep him out of trouble!"

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

That same evening saw Eric half-scowling and half-grinning in his cups at The Boar's Head—scowling, as he watched Hal and Poins made good on their fiendish scheme to shame Falstaff, and grinning, as Falstaff, to his credit, brilliantly countered their words with witty rejoinders of his own. There was a moment's sobriety when Sir John Bracy passed on to Hal, through Poins, the news that Worcester had fled, thus confirmation enough that a rebellion was in the offing. For a moment, the Huntsman felt relief. Perhaps Worcester decided not to go through with his plan to harm Hal after all. But then, his face soured once more when Hal and Falstaff put on a most offensive show, with the Prince mimicking his poor father. Falstaff even chose to make a heartfelt entreaty toward the young Royal.

 

"As for your sweet, kind, honest, and brave Jack Falstaff," the old man begged in earnest, tears misting his eyes, "do not banish him from Harry's company. If you get rid of him, you get rid of the entire world."

 

Prince Hal has paused then, a pained expression on his face, before saying softly, "I do, I will."

 

 _Hah!_ Eric thought to himself. _I wonder if you will hold true to your words later._

The drunken revelry was soon dispersed by the arrival of the Sheriff, with the aggrieved gentlemen whom Falstaff had robbed. Promising that he will make Falstaff answer to the accusations, Hal dismissed the dutiful upholder of the law. Still, Eric watched in his shadowed corner as Hal made Doll Tearsheet and Ned fumble through the fat man's pockets for anything of value by which to pay back his accusers, only to find receipts, among them one receipt for two gallons of sack. The ring that Ned took off his finger was made of copper and was not worth anything at all.

 

In the end, Hal heaved a resigned sigh. "Just let him sleep where he lies. I need to be at court tomorrow morning. Since we will be at war, I shall put Jack in charge of an infantry company. The money that he earns from the endeavor will be used to repay what he had stolen, with interest."

 

That should have been the conclusion of yet another uneventful evening at The Boar's Head. Having been so dismissed, Doll went up to her room while Ned bid his good friend farewell. Eric was about to leave as well, seeing Hal making his way toward the door. But then, he stopped when a smiling hulk of a man came forward and approached the Prince, bearing a tankard of ale.

 

"Surely ye don't mean to leave us yet, dear Prince," the man said. "The night is still young, even if it is the morrow already. Come! Won't ye share a drink with me an' my friends?"

 

Eric watched through narrowed eyes as Hal turned toward the table where three other men were drinking. The men even lifted their cups to him in invitation.

 

"Forgive me, kind sirs," Hal said with sincere regret. "As much as I would like to stay and carouse with you fellows, I am afraid that I must return to the castle." He shrugged with weary resignation. "Such are the responsibilities of a prince."

 

"Then, just share with us a toast." The man pressed the tankard into Hal's hands. "For the Prince of Wales an' for his dedication to his friends and his countrymen!"

 

Cheers erupted from the men at the table. Not wanting to offend them, Hal lifted the tankard and drank it down. "Thank you, my friends, for your generous ale and your wholehearted toast in my name."

 

As Hal was handing back the tankard to the man, Eric noticed how his hand was starting to shake. Then, the tankard itself fell out of his hand and fell with a clatter on the floor. Hal's hand flew up to his brow, his face turning much paler. Before Eric could move, Hal literally collapsed into the man's arms.

 

"Are ye alright, my Prince?" the man asked in mock concern.

 

"I…I feel…faint," was Hal's weak reply.

 

"Aye, aye, you've been doing too much, my lord. Indeed, ye are burdened with the woes of the throne. Let us take ye upstairs so ye can rest. On the morrow, ye can head right off to court."

 

Hal no longer answered as his whole body fell limp, and the man lifted him up fully into his arms. His companions also stood up and went toward them. Together, they made their way toward the stairs.

 

Suspicion of what they were up to prompted Eric to hurry to the back stairs used by the servants. Knowing that above the chambers was a spacious attic by which someone can spy on the patrons in their sexual cavorting, he entered one such room, pushed back a hidden door in the ceiling, and climbed into the attic. It did not take long for him to find the chamber where they took the unconscious prince, their entry heralded as it was with a kick to the door. Through the floor slats, he saw the man toss Hal on top of the bed.

 

"Shall I call the whore in now?" one of his companions asked eagerly.

 

"And are we to watch as she has her wicked way with him?" the second said just as excitedly.

 

"Wicked is right," the third man laughed. "I don't think my…sensibilities…can take seeing his Highness being taken advantage of by a poxed strumpet."

 

The man sat down on the bed, running a hand over Hal's smooth cheek. "No, change in plans. I don't want to entrust a pretty morsel such as this to a diseased whore. Besides, Worcester wanted to see the Prince shamed, to have his reputation sullied completely. I don't see why we can't do the sullying ourselves."

 

"You don't mean…"

 

The man's reply was to tear off Hal's jacket from his body, the buttons flying from the sudden jerk and the leather giving way at the seams. As his companions cackled and looked on, he yanked off the Prince's boots and socks, before pulling down his trousers and small clothes. As a finishing touch, he ripped Hal's black shirt to shreds, until the Prince lay completely naked on the bed, his pale skin glistening from drying ale, a tasty feast for the men who eyed his beauty with ravenous hunger.

 

Straddling the Prince, the man bent down, and kissed and licked that handsome face with his slobbering mouth. His rank tongue slid in between Hal's lips, tasting his moist depths. Seeing the younger man unresponsive to his lascivious ministrations, he grew even bolder. Pulling Hal toward him, the man nipped and nuzzled along the planes of his chest, before letting lips and teeth bite and suckle upon turgid nipples.

 

A heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him from pressing his unwanted attentions further. He turned, scowling, toward his companions, who were all looking very displeased.

 

"You do intend to share him with us, right?"

 

"You will all have a turn. But since it was I to whom the Earl of Worcester entrusted the Prince's defilement to, 'tis but natural that I should be the first to partake of this most delightful spoils."

 

"Aargh! You always get to be first!"

 

"We should draw lots as to who shall go second then!"

 

"Do what ye want! But leave me to my sweet Prince!"

 

Seeing the man free his burgeoning, heavily dripping cock from his trousers and drape Hal's long legs over his shoulders, the Huntsman found his mind being filled with images of his beloved Sara—dead and defiled by Ravenna's brother, Finn. His intense dislike for the Prince was not enough to overcome his rage at the brutality that was to unfold before him.

 

With a roar, he leaped down from the attic. Even with their greater number, because they were caught off guard, the men were no match for the Huntsman. Eric tore the man who was about to defile the Prince off the bed, shoving him into the far corner of the room. One man lunged at him, but Eric felled him with a punch to the guts. Another struck him from behind with a chair, which broke into pieces. The Huntsman seized the broken chair leg out of his hand and bashed his head with it. The third made to drive a fist into his face, but Eric grabbed that fist in an iron grip, before delivering a devastating head butt to his forehead.

 

The Huntsman's attention was focused on the ringleader groaning in the corner. He strode toward him and grabbed his neck in a chokehold. With his other hand, he pulled out a sharp dagger.

 

"So it is your intent to ruin the Prince of Wales, eh," Eric hissed in his face. "You even dare to touch him with your filthy mouth and hands!"

 

"It was on the orders of the Earl of Worcester, My Lord!" the man argued, as he struggled to break free. "I would not personally do the Prince any harm!"

 

The door banged open behind the Huntsman, and he heard Mistress Quickly declare, "WHAT IS GOIN' ON HERE?" followed by a shocked "Oh!" at the sight of the naked prince.

 

Eric ignored her, however, his attention focused on the miscreant before him. "Ah, but your actions have betrayed you. If I had not been watching you from above, I wonder what else you would've done to him."

 

"Please, My Lord! I swear to ye, we shall say nothing of this eve. Just…please…let us go!"

 

"Oh, but I have no guarantee that you will keep your silence. Even if I had stopped you from defiling the Prince, this will not stop your tongue from wagging falsehoods all over London."

 

"My Lord, to ye we swear nothing but our absolutely silence!"

 

There was a sharp glint in Eric's blue eyes. "You shall be silent alright!"

 

A few minutes later, Mistress Quickly was staring in shocked horror as the Huntsman stood up, his hand gripping four bloody, severed tongues, which he tossed into the fireplace. Gesturing to the men writhing and shrieking at his feet, he commanded, "Have your men take these bastards to the Sheriff. Request the Sheriff to come to me immediately because this matter must be dealt with in utmost secrecy. Do you understand me, Mistress."

 

"Aye," Mistress Quickly replied, nodding her head. "'Tis a just thing ye've done to them. The Prince is like a son to me. The thought that he was almost..." She shuddered all over. "But first, get them out of this room."

 

Recognizing the need to avoid drawing further attention to the room, Eric tossed the men outside, just as Mistress Quickly called for Francis and the other serving boys to come to her aid. There were questioning looks on their faces when their mistress told them to bring the men to the Sheriff, but they did not give voice to their queries due to the Huntsman's formidable mien. Instead, they hastened to obey.

 

When they were alone again, Mistress Quickly eyed the stains on the bed sheet between Hal's legs in disgust. "Help me get rid of the sheets. I shall burn them so that there will be no evidence of what nearly transpired."

 

But Eric shook his head as he lifted the Prince from the bed to enable the kindly woman to remove the stained sheets. "No, simply wrap it in a bundle, Mistress. I may have need of it."

 

"I'll do as you say, but unfortunately, I have no clean sheets on hand to change the bed."

 

The Huntsman smiled reassuringly. "I have my cloak. That would suffice. Thank you, Mistress. I hope you will be discreet."

 

Mistress Quickly waved her hand dismissingly. "For the Prince, I'll do anythin'! Is there anythin' else that you'll be needin'?"

 

"No, Madam. I'll be here waiting for the Sheriff. The Prince is on my watch for the remainder of this evening."

 

Mistress Quickly nodded and left the room, but not before making sure that she locked the door behind her.

 

When they were finally alone, Eric declared to the slumbering Royal in his arms, "Well, my Prince, it looks like you owe me for saving your dubious virtue. I shall let you sleep now, to let your blood wash away the drug that you have imbibed."

 

Before he could set Hal down on the bare bed, he found himself looking closely at the sleeping Prince. He could not stop himself from admiring his smooth, alabaster cheek, his high cheekbones, and his moist thin lips. Despite his proclamation earlier of being the Prince's savior, Eric was gripped by a strong, irresistible, and scandalous urge to press his mouth to those lips. As if sensing his intent, Hal let out a soft moan, his head turning sideways.

 

The Huntsman froze at once at the sight of the three moles on the right side of Hal's neck. One mole was larger than the other three. It was the exact same size, rose color, and location as the mole of his late, still grieved for wife Sara. In his shock, Eric almost dropped the Prince.

  
  
 

His whole body trembling, the Huntsman gently laid Hal down on the bed and carefully draped his buckram cloak over his naked form. As he was about to tuck the cloak under Hal's chin, he could not stop from staring at that telltale mole.

 

Eric inched back toward the lone chair left standing in the room, picking up the Prince's discarded garments on the floor. Sitting down with the torn jacket in his lap, he reached for his pouch which contained his sewing implements. With his mind in turmoil by what he had seen, all the Huntsman could do was shut off everything around him by immersing himself in the tedious task of sewing up the tears in Hal's clothes.

 

But even as he did so, he could not stop his blue eyes from wandering back to the slumbering Prince and that tiny mole on the side of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few end notes. I've watched the DVD and read the book of "Snow White and the Huntsman". The detail regarding Sara and her mole can be found in the book. I find it ironic that Tom Hiddleston himself has tiny moles on the side of his neck. Talk about coincidence. ;)


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Madara_Nycteris who, without her encouragement and her fanarts, this would never have been written. <3

**Chapter 3**

 

Hal dreamed of a time before the madness began.

 

 

_He was just eleven years old, laughing and playing in the royal gardens. It was while he was lying on his belly, sniffing at the bunch of gardenia flowers he had gathered when a shadow suddenly blocked out the sun. Turning, he smiled, as he beheld the kind face of his cousin Richard, the ruling monarch of England._

__

_Remembering himself, Hal rose up and quickly got down on one knee, bending his head low in obeisance to his liege. "What can I do for you, Your Majesty?"_

_Richard II's answer to his query was a tight, desperate embrace and a sob._

_Hearing that soft cry, Hal became genuinely concerned. "Cousin…is something wrong?"_

_Richard drew back, wiping away the tears from his eyes before they could fall. Gripping Hal's shoulders tightly, he said, "A storm is coming, Harry. A storm which I, unfortunately, had instigated."_

_Hal looked up at the sky then, but there was nary a cloud in the heavens. Quizzically, he remarked, "But, I don't think it's going to rain."_

_Richard laughed at that innocent comment. "It will come, Harry. Of that you can be sure of. Because of what I've done, because of what I'm about to do, I am begging you for your forgiveness. Please, child. I will understand if you will learn to hate me later. But I ask that you remember me the way that I am now, right here with you."_

_"Why, cousin? What did you do?"_

_"I am slowly being driven mad, Harry," Richard answered as he stood up, his body straight and determined. "And I need the help of the one man who can purge me of this madness."_

_A few days later, Richard took him away to Ireland, saying that his father had to leave the kingdom for an extended period of time and had entrusted his young son to his care. The year that he had spent in Ireland was one of the happiest times in his childhood for Richard made good on his promise, teaching him not only about the ways of court, but also about life and how he should cherish his freedom while he still can._

_A year later, Hal returned to a changed England. His father, to his surprise, was now king. As for Richard, he knew not what became of him. Neither his father nor the men of his court would explain to him what happened. They would only look at him with profound guilt and sorrow in their eyes._

_Hal only learned about the fate that had befallen Richard one morning when he was hurrying to the throne room to inform his father of the excellent marks that he had obtained from his written examinations with his tutor._

_When he opened the door to the throne room, Hal did not notice the startled men in armor who were gathered inside. Neither did he notice his father standing stunned and pale among them. His blue eyes focused instead on the open coffin lying on the floor.  Slowly, he took a step toward that coffin…and another…and another…_

_"Harry…son…don't…"_

_But his father's warning came too late. Hal peered inside the coffin and he saw his poor cousin Richard lying in peaceful repose inside it, his ashen body marred by arrow wounds._

"I need to be purged of this madness, Harry."

_Yes, Richard II was finally free of the madness that had consumed his being._

_And all Hal could do…was scream._

 

 

"NO!" Hal gasped out as he sat bolt upright from the bed. For awhile, as he rubbed his sweaty face and teary eyes, his mind was a-whirl with that painful memory. All he could see was that image of poor Richard lying inside his coffin.

 

"So, you have finally awakened," a voice suddenly spoke up with a very heavy brogue. "An' I thought I would have to drag you out an' carry you away to court."

 

Hal's blue eyes flashed as he focused upon the man sitting in the corner. Even greater was his mortification when he discovered that he was naked. The only thing covering him, albeit rather inadequately, was a ratty buckram cloak.

 

"Why am I naked?" the Prince demanded, pulling the cloak up to hide his bare body. As a shudder crept up his spine, he asked tremulously, "What did you do to me?"

 

The man snorted in disgust. "Don't flatter yourself, My Liege. I am not one o' those fools fawning over you. I certainly have better taste than to lie with a reprobate like you."

 

"Then, how…why…" Hal let out a groan as he remembered the ruffian who had approached him and that drugged tankard of ale. Hesitantly, he inquired, "Did he…"

 

"Almost. 'Tis a good thing that I decided to follow you upstairs." Another snort. "Truth be told, I don't know why I even stopped him an' his men from having their way with you. Being the profligate that you are, it's the least you deserve."

 

"HOW DARE YOU INSULT ME?!" Hal growled in outrage. "Do you know who you are speaking to? I AM THE PRINCE OF WALES!"

 

The man abruptly got to his feet, sending his chair falling backward from the sudden movement. "THEN ACT LIKE ONE!" he shouted in return. "YOU HAVE BEEN NOTHING BUT A BLIGHT UPON YOUR FATHER AND THE KINGDOM!"

 

Hal stared at the furious man before him. He was obviously lowborn, if one were to gauge by his dirty face, unkempt dark brown hair, and his tattered garments. But he carried himself with the dignity of a royal.

 

Before Hal could utter a retort, the man threw his clothes into his hands. "There! Get dressed! I am taking you to court right this minute!"

 

"Where's my shirt, and my smallclothes?" the Prince asked, holding up the jacket and the trousers.

 

"Ripped to shreds, My Liege. Those men were that determined to feast upon your flesh. You should consider yourself fortunate that I still had the patience to repair your jacket and trousers for you. I personally wouldn't have minded takin' you to meet with your father an' his council bare as a babe. Maybe the shame would knock some sense into you."

 

Insulted and humiliated, Hal struggled to hold back his tears as he made to pull on his jacket. There was a moue of horror on his face as he looked down and saw the dusky marks of fingers and kisses upon his pale skin. Not wanting to see those marks, he quickly donned his jacket, jerking it close.

 

"Is that how little you think of me, Huntsman?" Hal could not stop himself from asking the angry man, as he fumbled with the buttons.

 

The Huntsman was taken aback by that unexpected query. "You know who I am?"

 

"It's a lucky supposition. My Earl of Westmoreland and my brothers have been speaking highly of you. Pardon me if my opinions of you differ from theirs."

 

"I care not for your opinions," the Huntsman declared in frank dismissal. "I am lowborn, after all. Any opinions that you may have are likely to be base and crude, because that is how you Royals are like." He spat on the floor. "Damned monarchy! Believin' that they're above everybody else."

 

"But you obviously respect my father."

 

"Aye, he is one of the exceptions…an' your brothers," the Huntsman admitted. "They are good men, men of honor. I lament the fact that you have not acquired even an ounce of their distinctive qualities. The whispers that I hear about you in court are true. You are naught but a shadow of that silly and irresponsible king, Richard II."

 

"Forgive me then, Huntsman, for not meeting your lofty expectations," Hal muttered as he bent down to reach for his boots. Unable to control his temper, he threw a boot at the Huntsman, hitting him squarely in the shoulder. "But I will **_not_** have you speak of Richard that way! You don't know the man as I do!" Lowering his head to hide his falling tears at the memory of the late king, he sobbed, "Richard was a good man…before the illness…"

 

The Prince did not notice the Huntsman give him a strange look. With a heavy exhalation, the Huntsman grabbed the bundle sitting on the floor, marched toward Hal, and grabbed his arm impatiently.

 

"Come! Court awaits you, an' 'tis a late hour already," the Huntsman urged him. "Although I have cut out the tongues of those miscreants who dared to touch you and spoken with the Sheriff not to report to your father the fate that nearly befell you, the good enforcer of law and order is insistent that he should do so, since it was Worcester who ordered for your defilement."

 

"Worcester?" Hal's forehead creased in a frown. "How could he command such a vile deed to be inflicted upon me?"

 

"To make you even more unfit to sit on the throne of England," the Huntsman said as he tugged the Prince along. "Your reputation is sullied enough. For word to spread that you have not only been deflowered by men but poxed as well, you will be completely ruined, and not even your father can salvage what precious little of your honor remains."

 

"Stop pulling me as you would a dog on a leash!" Hal roared, jerking his arm out of the Huntsman's grasp. "I can walk on my own!"

 

Thus freed, Hal hurried on ahead, but his cheeks and his ears burned as the Huntsman laughed derisively behind him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Eric did not know if the Prince was completely oblivious to the tense air in the castle. Hal walked with sure, casual strides, ignoring the disapproving stares that were being thrown his way by the courtiers and some of the King's advisers. He was aching to rap that arrogant boy's head with the butt of his axe. Instead, he kept his choice weapon sheathed and secured to his back, while he held on to his precious bundle. Eric prayed that the matter of the incident at The Boar's Head will not be brought to light and that he will not be required to present his evidence.

 

Reaching the throne room, Prince Hal was promptly let inside. Knowing his place, Eric waited outside. But, the Earl of Westmoreland had seen him arrive with the Prince, and the kindly old noble had waved for him to enter as well.

 

"Hush now, Huntsman," Westmoreland whispered in his ear. "The King desires a private conference with the Prince. I fear things do not bode well for Prince Harry." There were equally sad, concerned expressions on Prince John, Prince Humphrey, and Prince Thomas, who stood near the throne. With their eyes, they were practically begging Eric to do something.

 

"Why, My Lord? What happened?" Eric asked.

 

It was then that King Henry IV stood up from his throne and addressed his wayward son. "I don't know if I had committed such a displeasing crime that God saw it fit to turn my own flesh and blood into a tormenter and plague upon my person. So terrible is God's vengeance upon me that He would taint my own highborn son with disorderly conduct, lewd desires, despicable deeds, and inspire him to keep vulgar company which he treats as his equals!"

 

"So please your Majesty—" Hal tried to interrupt, but the King was in such a fury.

 

"Do you not know the consequences of your vulgar actions?" King Henry demanded. "You have lost your place in my council, a position that is now held with great responsibility by your younger brother. You have completely severed yourself from the good graces of the members of the royal family and the court. The promises that you have once shown in your youth have been ruined, and every man predicts your downfall."

 

The King circled Hal as a dog would his disobedient pup. "If I had made myself visible publicly and become overly familiar with the common people, then all public opinion, which had helped me to gain the crown of England, would have remained loyal to King Richard. A banished man I would still be now, with no means of success or a pristine reputation. But, because I did not make myself readily available in public, the more the people were impressed with what they saw in me, and their children would cry, 'That is him!' By my acts of humility and modesty, so did I win the hearts and approval of my people.

 

"But Richard, no, he danced around with courtiers of superficial intellect and clowns to keep him amused. By keeping such company around him, he has degraded himself into a skipping fool, all to pursue such a shallow goal as popularity. So, because the sight of him has become too common, he was like a cuckoo in June—heard, but completely ignored." The King pointed a stern finger at his son. "And that, Harry, is where **_you_** stand. By associating with thieves and lowlifes, you have lost your status as a prince. Everyone's eyes in the kingdom have grown tired of seeing you and your antics." There was a choked sob as the monarch turned away. "All eyes, except mine, which persistently desired to see you more. Now my eyes are turning against me, blinding me with their foolish tears."

 

There was a brief silence. Then, Hal spoke, and not too sincerely to Eric's ears, "From now on, my thrice gracious father, I will be more myself."

 

The slap that the King bestowed upon the Prince's cheek was like a whip crack. In his shock, Westmoreland reached for Eric's arm, ready to urge the Huntsman to act if King Henry should punish his son further.

 

Instead, the King continued with his diatribe. "As you stand before me now, you, Harry, are so like Richard when I returned from France to lead the rebellion against him. That man I was then is Percy now. He has greater right to the throne than you, Harry, you who are nothing more than a shadow of the King. Even without the right to the crown, Percy has filled the kingdom's battlefields with his armies. Although he is no older than you are, he leads noble lords and respected bishops into these same battlefields. This same Hotspur, this Mars in swaddling clothes, this infant warrior, has defeated that illustrious Scot Douglas not once, but **_thrice_**! Now, he has freed him and made an ally of him, so that they have become serious threats to my throne."

 

Weary and sick at heart, the King turned away then, no longer wishing to see the face of his son, and plopped down on the throne. "But why am I wasting my time telling you about my enemies, Harry? When you yourself are my most dangerous and most beloved foe? With your fear of the vassals, your base inclinations, and your short temper, it would not surprise me if you abandoned me to fight under Percy's pay."

 

To Eric's surprise, Hal strode up the dais, declaring loudly, "Do not think that, Father, because it will not happen! Whatever faults and sins that I have committed against you and the kingdom, I will redeem it all on Percy's head. And when that glorious day comes to pass, you will be proud to call me your son once more. On that very day, that brave Hotspur, whom you hold in so high regard as a knight, shall meet your dishonored Harry in the battlefield. Then, I shall make that Northern youth exchange his honorable deeds for my numerous shames." Hal crossed himself as he made the firm vow, "In the name of God Almighty, this I promise you. Let me die a hundred-thousand deaths before I break even the smallest part of this vow."

 

The King just looked at his son, measuring his honesty. "You do know, my son, a hundred-thousand rebels will die in this endeavor."

 

Hal, however, did not say more, remaining firm in his resolve.

 

With a nod, the King stood up and patted the Prince's shoulder, "Very well. I will grant you a position of command in my army. In this undertaking, you shall have my absolute trust."

 

At these words, a collective sigh of relief was breathed out by all inside the room. Although he could not hide his apprehensions at what he had just committed himself to, Hal steeled his jaw, ready to follow his father and his king. For awhile, it seemed the matter of the Prince's unsavory behavior had been concluded.

 

But then, the King slowly turned around and said softly, his voice ominous, "There is one more thing that I need to speak with you about, Harry."

 

Westmoreland exchanged quick, knowing glances with the other nobles. Even Sir Walter Blunt looked genuinely alarmed.

 

"The Sheriff came to me with a most…disturbing…report," King Henry revealed. "Tell me the truth, Harry. What happened to you at The Boar's Head early this morning?"

 

Hal turned visibly pale. As he fidgeted where he stood, he swallowed hard to stop his reply from coming out as a stutter. "I had been drinking with Poins and Sir John Falstaff and…"

 

"No. What came **_after_ ** that?"

 

"Father, let me assure you that nothing happened."

 

"'Nothing happened'? I was told that you were drugged in your cups by three ruffians and they have set upon you as dogs would on a bitch in heat!"

 

"My Liege, I swear to you, they did nothing to me!"

 

"But you were drugged! How could you know?"

 

Before anyone in the throne room could speak, King Henry seized his son's arm in an iron grip. "Come with me, Harry!" he muttered between gritted teeth, as he practically dragged the Crown Prince along.

 

"Father, please! You're hurting me!"

 

The three princes rushed forward to intervene. John pleaded, "Father, don't do this to our brother! I beg you!"

 

"My Lord, please!" Westmoreland cried as he, Sir Walter Blunt, and the other nobles tried to block the monarch's path. "This is not necessary!"

 

"OUT OF MY WAY!" the King roared. "OPEN THE DOORS!"

 

Hearing the enraged tone in their king's words, the guards hastened to do as commanded. Their eyes were wide and round as they watched King Henry drag his crying, pleading son out of the throne room, heading for the Royal Bedchamber.

 

Such was the sudden turn of events that, at first, Eric could not act. It was Westmoreland who shook him out of it by yelling, "Huntsman! Come help us! Hurry!"

 

With a quick nod, Eric raced past the princes and the lords, going after the King. He swiftly squeezed through the closing crack of the door before it could be sealed shut. The Huntsman opened the door briefly to let in the Earl and Prince John. All three men were horrified to see the startled figure of the Royal Physician standing near the foot of the bed.

 

Hal was shaking his head, trying to inch away from his father. "Your Majesty, please—"

 

But there was only madness in King Henry's eyes. In full sight of the people gathered in the chamber, the King grabbed the lapel of Hal's jacket and tore it free from his body. Although Hal tried to cover his upper body with his arms, the marks that were left on his chest and torso were all too visible.

 

"And you say you haven't been touched?" the King hissed. "Then what do you call these?" Tears started pouring from Hal's eyes as his father forced his arms down.

 

"Take off your trousers, Harry," the monarch ordered, wagging a finger at the garments.

 

"Father, don't—"

 

"I SAID TAKE THEM OFF NOW!"

 

The physician took a timid step forward. "Your Majesty, perhaps, I should examine the Prince in private."

 

But the man let out a frightened cry as the King growled, "SILENCE!" He then turned to the others inside the room. "If you don't approve of what I'm doing, then leave this chamber! NOW!"

 

Hal's body shook with the force of his sobs as he reluctantly obeyed his father. Because he was moving too slowly, the King snarled in impatience. He shoved the poor, terrified Prince onto the bed, and jerked his trousers down his long legs. Hal tried to inch backward, but the King dragged him back to the foot of the bed. Forcibly bending his son's legs at the knees, King Henry spread Hal's thighs apart.

 

"Examine him now, physician," the king demanded.

 

"But, My Liege, even from here I can see that your son has not been touched. Please! This is no longer necessary!"

 

"And how would you know, you quack! If you won't do it, I'll do it myself."

 

Prince John gaped, horrified, as his father lifted a large hand, ready to plunge a finger into his older brother's body. "FATHER, DON'T DO THIS!"

 

"MY LIEGE! PLEASE!" Westmoreland cried as well.

 

Suddenly, a blanket was unfurled, the billowing fabric settling down on Prince Hal's naked body. Then, Eric himself stepped forward and he gripped the monarch's wrist, keeping his probing hand at bay.

 

"There's your proof, Your Majesty," Eric declared, nodding toward the stains on the sheet. "Those are the traces of the spoor of the man who had attempted to defile your son. I should know, because I was there, and I saved your son from being ruined. If he had been violated, he would bleed, like a maiden on her wedding night, and you see no bloodstains here."

 

"DO NOT INTERFERE WITH MY BUSINESS, HUNTSMAN!" the King hissed, mad and enraged. Seeing the dark shadow in Henry's eyes, there was no doubt in Eric's mind who he was speaking to.

 

Prince John, Westmoreland and the physician gasped when the Huntsman, forgetting royal protocol, cupped the raving monarch's cheeks in his calloused hands.

 

With soft, gentle tones, Eric begged, "My Liege, I know you are in there. Do not harm your son. I swear to you, on my life, that he is still chaste. But if you continue with this…atrocity, you will surely defile him, even much worse than the men whom Worcester had paid to do this vile deed."

 

For several minutes, the King and the Huntsman just stared into each other's eyes. With a terrible shudder, Henry willed the wraith that was haunting his mind back into the darkest recesses of his psyche. When the shadow finally retreated, the King found himself gazing down at his firstborn, who lay crying on his bed.

 

"Oh, Harry!" King Henry exclaimed with deep regret and woe. "What have I almost done to my son?!" He made to touch Hal, but he pulled back his hand, staring at the offensive limb with abhorrence.

 

Eric turned to the Earl and the younger prince. "My Lords, if you please, take care of His Majesty." Seeing the questioning looks on their faces, he swore, "I promise you. I will explain everything to you later."

 

Prince John and Westmoreland looked briefly at each other before nodding in acquiescence. They each took an arm of the King and they led him out of the bedchamber. King Henry gave his oldest son one last regretful glance before the Earl closed the door.

 

Before Eric could feel any relief, the blanket was thrown over his head and a fist struck his jaw which sent him flying against the bedpost. Before he could get away, he was pummeled by furious blows.

 

"ARE YOU SATISFIED NOW?" Hal cried, as he struck the Huntsman again and again. "DOES IT PLEASE YOU TO SEE ME SHAMED AND HUMILIATED BY MY OWN FATHER?"

 

Eric somehow managed to tear the blanket off him. He grabbed Hal's flailing arms by the wrists. Using his full weight, he pushed the prince back down on the bed. Defeated and utterly mortified, Hal curled into himself, his whole body shaking with the force of his weeping.

 

"God spare me from the responsibilities and heartache of the throne!" Hal sobbed bitterly. "Why could I have not been born a peasant instead of a prince? Shall the crown claim my heart, my mind and my soul as it had my dear cousin Richard and my father Henry? Oh, God! If you be just, pass this hollow crown to someone else!"

 

Hearing the prince's impassioned words, Eric found himself speechless. Was he wrong about the Prince of Wales?

 

Furious, tear-filled blue eyes fell upon him. "Why do you stand there and gape, Huntsman? GO AND LEAVE ME TO MY SHAME!"

 

But Eric did not leave the distraught prince. Instead, he stood in somber vigilance beside the bed, watching with mixed curiosity and distress the poor young man who would become King of England.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with lovely art by Madara-Nycteris! <3

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright April 19, 2013 By Rory**

**Chapter 4**

 

Much to Eric's relief, Sir Walter Blunt delivered dire news that Hotspur was putting together an army with the Scot Douglas at Shrewsbury, thus delaying the talk that he was going to have with Westmoreland and Prince John on the matter of the King's bizarre behavior. In order to stop them before they reached their full numbers, the King gave out the order to assemble his troops swiftly and arm them expediently. All haste was needed if they were to have an advantage over the enemy.

 

Still, Westmoreland had taken Eric briefly aside to whisper in his ear before he and Prince John departed with their company, "Don't think that I have forgotten what you promised, Huntsman. After we have dealt with Hotspur, we and Prince John shall have that talk."

 

It was to Eric's great discomfiture though that just an hour later, King Henry himself approached him, still visibly troubled by what had happened.

 

"Huntsman, I have…a request," the King began, his voice tremulous. "While it would be wiser to make it a royal command, I thought that it would be preferable to turn it into a request, knowing that you might be reluctant to grant it. I will understand if you refuse. But I am hoping that you would…if you please."

 

Eric's heart was tugged by Henry's turmoil and hesitation. Since he has always been a man who conveyed his sincerity through touch, he slowly reached out and took the King's shaky hands into his tender grasp.

 

"You have been most kind to me, Your Majesty," Eric stated reassuringly. "There is no request that I will not grant you."

 

Despite that statement, the monarch still would not dare to hope. In a rush, he breathed out, "Harry, my son. Would you please watch over him, not just during the battle, but also after, if we should all survive? I see now that there is no one to whom I can entrust his well-being. Westmoreland and my younger sons have all urged me to trust you." There were tears welling up in Henry's eyes as he added, "I'm afraid, Huntsman. Although I have accused Harry of being my beloved enemy, what if **_I_** am **_his_** worst foe?  You saw what I almost did to him! Oh, God forgive me!"

 

Seeing the King start to weep, Eric led him inside a small chamber and sat him down on a comfortable chair. Although Henry was the last person whom he wanted to speak with regarding the wraith that had possessed him, the Huntsman realized that, of all the people in the kingdom, it was the King who deserved to know the truth.

 

As he closed the door to give himself and the King some privacy, Eric made the sign of the cross and offered a simple prayer for guidance. He then approached the slumped figure and went down on his knees.

 

"Your Majesty," he began, again taking the King's hands, "I am going to tell you something which may seem unbelievable at first, but I beg you to listen to me carefully. Do not blame yourself for what happened earlier. You were not in control of yourself. Something…no, **_someone_** …has possessed you, and she wants to see you destroy not only yourself and the entire kingdom for her own gain, but your son as well."

 

It was then that Eric told King Henry everything—about Ravenna, Snow White, and how she had nearly destroyed the kingdom of Tabor. He also told the King about how they had distanced the kingdom from the rest of England with the help of the fairy folk to prevent Ravenna's evil from corrupting the mortal world. Finally, he revealed to Henry about the escape of the sorceress' shade and how it had taken over Richard II's soul and was now seeking of doing the same to him.

 

When Eric was finished with his narration, Henry threw his head back and clasped his hands together. "Oh, Richard! I have wronged you grievously and there is no pardon for the terrible sins that I have committed upon you!" He reached over for Eric. "Tell me, Huntsman! This wraith…Ravenna…that you speak of…how did she come to take over my body and Richard's for that matter?"

 

"I have spoken with Queen Snow White at length on the matter. She and the fairy elders suspect that Ravenna seizes control during a particularly fragile moment of mental and emotional weakness. I tried to learn as much as I could about your predecessor and the strange quirks in his personality. If you recall, Your Majesty, King Richard began to display a marked change in his behavior when he had Lords Gloucester, Arundel and Warwick arrested, men suspected of plotting against the King but no evidence was ever found proving this fact. I believe that Ravenna's shade had been whispering poison in the King's ear, compelling him to destroy all whom she perceived to be a threat to her plans. Sadly, this included the Duke of Norfolk Thomas Mowbray, your father John of Gaunt, and yourself."

 

Henry clapped a trembling hand to his mouth. "Yes, I had been shocked when Richard ordered our exile. I never expected such a punishment from my cousin."

 

Eric continued, "In your case, My Liege, I suspect that Ravenna sank her vile claws into you on that fateful day when Aumerle presented you with the dead body of the murdered Richard. The Earl of Westmoreland himself confided in me how the guilt had consumed you so much that you wished to go to the Holy Land in order to cleanse your sins. But I will tell you now, My King. You should forget about going to the Holy Land because you have no sins to cleanse. Everything that has happened was due to Ravenna's machinations. And even if you were to go there, I doubt if the Christ himself, who is buried there, will be able to rid you of this evil wraith."

 

"And now, Ravenna has eyes on my son. What plans does she have for my Harry?"

 

"To be honest, I do not know," Eric said with a forlorn shake of his head. "She is a creature of malice. Ravenna will do anything she wants just to satisfy her greed for beauty, power and immortality. She imprisoned Snow White, envious of her beauty, and then tried to kill her in order to consume her heart to become immortal. While the absence of magic in the mortal world prevents her from doing the same to Prince Harry, I have no doubt that she will do anything to hurt him through you."

 

"I WOULD RATHER DIE THAN ALLOW HER TO DO MY SON HARM!" King Henry leaped to his feet and bellowed in rage. "Do you hear me, Witch? I will not be your vessel to do evil! YOU SHALL NOT TOUCH MY SON!"

 

"Hush, My King, lest the court think you have gone mad!" Eric hastily silenced the furious monarch. The Huntsman urged the King to sit once more and gave his hand a firm squeeze. "Calm your heart, Your Majesty. As I live and breathe, I will protect Prince Harry. Ravenna will never corrupt his mind and soul."

 

To Eric's surprise, Henry's arms went around him in a desperate, yet relieved, embrace. "God bless the day that you were chosen by your kind and gracious Queen to come to England's aid! My gratitude is eternally yours, Huntsman."

 

"My name is Eric, Your Majesty," the Huntsman at last introduced himself to the aggrieved king. "Please call me by my given name, for I already consider you like a dearest father to me."

 

"And I am very pleased to have you as my new son," Henry replied in turn, truly pleased with the young man before him, laughing. A wry grimace curled up the corner of his mouth. "I fear, however, that my young Harry may prove to be very difficult for you."

 

"He already is," Eric could not help agreeing with the monarch.

 

"Be patient with him, Eric," the King patted his shoulder. "He is still but a boy, even though he is to become future King of England. As much as the company he keeps distresses me, I continue to pray that he learns from his experiences dealing with Falstaff and his ilk and that these would make of him a good king." He gave the Huntsman a wink. "Who knows? You might prove to be a more positive influence on him. I have spoken with Poins, and the poor lad is at his wits' end, trying to keep Harry on the straight and narrow. Of course, this is easier said than done when young Poins has also been corrupted by both Harry and Falstaff."

 

"Your Majesty, I assure you I am of much sterner stuff. I will put the Prince to right. You can be certain of that."

 

"That's a good man. I am counting on you." As King Henry headed for the door to attend to the needs of his army, he suggested, "You know, Eric? It might help if you can somehow capture Harry's heart. I personally would not mind if my son would become smitten with you."

 

Eric's eyes were as round as saucers as he whirled to look at the King's back. "Your Majesty, do not suggest such a thing! The hairs on my arms are standing on end!"

 

With mischievous innocence, however, the monarch simply said, "What are you talking about, Eric? I did not utter anything just now. Perhaps it was Ravenna taking control of my mouth."

 

"That is not a matter to be jesting about, My Liege!" Eric growled under his breath.

 

"I know, I know," Henry waved his hand in dismissal. He paused at the doorway to give the Huntsman a conniving wink. "Still, it is something to think about, am I right?"

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Despite his reluctance at seeing King Henry's firstborn so soon, Eric found himself grudgingly trudging toward the training fields where Prince Hal was supervising his own troops. Even from afar, he could already hear the twanging of bowstrings and the thudding of arrows into straw dummies. It did not take long before he sighted the Prince, practicing firing arrows with his men. Although he hated to admit it, as his brothers had claimed, Hal was indeed a good shot, judging from the number of arrows that had hit its man-sized target's vital spots with pinpoint accuracy.

 

Busy as he was admiring the Prince's prowess with a bow and arrow, Eric failed to notice Hal glowering darkly at him, observing his approach out of the corner of his eye.

 

"What are you doing here, Huntsman?" Hal asked, not hiding his intense annoyance. "I had hoped that I wouldn't see your face at all."

 

"Forgive me, Your Highness," Eric said, unapologetic, but granting the nettled prince a polite bow. "As much as I too did not wish to trouble you with my presence, I fear that your father thought it in your best interest that I be your personal guard from now on."

 

"I don't need you to guard me," Hal declared hotly as he fired his arrow, grimacing as the bolt did not hit its mark. Worse, it went wide and missed the dummy entirely. "I already have a close companion in Ned, and he is looking after me very well."

 

Standing behind the Prince, Poins—who had heard about what happened at The Boar's Head from Mistress Quickly—shook his head at the Huntsman, practically begging him in earnest with his eyes not to listen to Hal's words.

 

"Then I shall guard the two of you then," Eric replied, smiling at the look of relief on the face of the Prince's best friend. "I certainly cannot disobey the King."

 

Hal let out a snort. "If you are that determined to guard me, show me your worth. Let's see how you do with a bow and arrow."

 

"My skills with a bow and arrow are passable, although I am more adept with an axe and sword. But, if it is your desire to put me to the test…"

 

"Yes, 'tis indeed my desire."

 

"Very well. However, let's make this more interesting, Your Highness," the Huntsman began to suggest. "Three arrows…each should hit the vulnerable parts of a man. What say you?"

 

"Challenge accepted," Hal declared bluntly, pulling an arrow from his quiver and nocking it on the bow. He watched as Eric picked up a bow from the pile of weapons on the ground, tested the tautness of the string, and then took the three arrows that Poins handed to him. Although the Huntsman looked at him expectantly, Hal gestured to the dummy, saying, "You may go first."

 

Nodding, Eric raised his bow and took careful aim. He released the arrow, sending it flying straight into the dummy's head.

 

"Very good, Huntsman," the Prince said in faux praise, and swiftly fired an arrow of his own, the point piercing the head, right beside the Huntsman's arrow.

 

Eric's next shot struck the dummy right through the heart. Undaunted, Hal let loose an arrow. To the Huntsman's amazement, the Prince's bolt split his own arrow in two.

 "Very good, My Prince," Eric nodded in more sincere approval, echoing Hal's earlier praise.

 

By this time, Hal's men have gathered around the training field, watching their little archery match. Already, discreet bets were being placed among them as to who would win between the Prince and the Huntsman.

 

For his final shot, Eric aimed for the liver, particularly the spot where he knew a blood vessel was located. When his arrow hit its mark, this caused cheers to erupt from the watching soldiers. When it was Prince Hal's turn to make his shot, the Huntsman could clearly see how incensed the young royal was by the visible tic in his temple.

 

Hal's lips were a tight, grim line as he took aim and fired…the arrow embedding itself right in the dummy's groin.

 

At the sight of that shot, collective "Oohs" and groans arose from the soldiers, who were all clutching their privates, faces contorted in mock agony. Even Poins had turned visibly pale.

 

"Aye, that's the worse death for a man! The Prince has won!" a Welsh soldier crowed in glee, drawing cheers and laughter from the rest of the troops.

 

There was a smug smile on Prince Hal's face as he raised his hand to acknowledge his rival. "No hard feelings, Huntsman."

 

"No man would want to be emasculated with an arrowhead." As Eric shook the Prince's hand, he could not resist teasing, "I take it you were thinking of me when you fired that arrow, am I right, Your Highness?"

 

Hal's cheeks burned as he jerked back his hand. "Your arrogance appalls me!" Angrily, he tossed his training bow and quiver back into the pile and stomped off, the onlookers parting like the Red Sea to make way for the fuming royal.

 

Ned Poins approached the Huntsman then. "I believe you already know who I am since I've seen you frequent The Boar's Head." He nodded toward the Prince's departing figure. "I wish I could apologize for Hal's behavior. But I'm afraid that things might get bad, considering his intense dislike for you."

 

"Don't worry," Eric reassured the man, patting his shoulder. "I can handle the Prince."

 

"Since you will be his guard," Poins began reluctantly, "I…perhaps you could speak with him about Falstaff. While it is not my place to criticize a fellow miscreant, I'm afraid that he is a bad influence on Hal. I've tried many times to convince him to disassociate himself from Sir John, but Hal just wouldn't listen to me. Then again, who would, since I am like Falstaff when it comes to thievery and similar foolishness. However, unlike Sir John, I am…" He pressed a hand to his heart. "…completely honest with him. I will never speak ill of him behind his back as Falstaff is doing."

 

Eric slowly nodded, giving the young man a smile. "I guess I misjudged you, Poins. You are truly the Prince's friend."

 

"I suppose I've not been that good enough a friend to him," Poins said ruefully. "If I were, I should never have left him alone, and he wouldn't have…"

 

"He wasn't harmed. I made sure of that," the Huntsman stated firmly. "But, perhaps, between the two of us, we can look after Prince Hal."

 

Poins visibly brightened at that. "Yes, I would like that very much." He nudged Eric in the direction where the Prince had disappeared to. "You'd better follow him then. Knowing our honey lord, he's probably at the lake right now, trying to cool his head."

 

"Thank you, Poins!" Eric told the man before hurrying off into the woods in pursuit of the errant royal.

 

The Huntsman knew the place that Poins was referring to, it not being too far from his humble cottage. Before long, Eric pushed his way through the bushes and found himself staring at the crystal blue lake, and at the beautiful siren who was swimming in its waters.

 

Despite his irritation with the Prince, Eric found himself utterly mesmerized by the alluring sight before him. Much like a mermaid, Hal swam through the waters with graceful ease, sometimes rising in a spray of waves and droplets before diving back down. When Hal surfaced, Eric could see the strong lines of his back and the sloping curve of his buttocks.

 

Perhaps tiring of the sport, Hal stood up at a shallow part, giving the Huntsman an exquisite view of his body. As Eric watched, speechless, the Prince ran his fingers through his hair and swept it back. Those same fingers descended to his cheeks and neck, water sluicing down with the movement. His body glistened with moisture, droplets clinging to his pale skin. Eric's blue eyes focused hungrily on a small nipple from which hung a crystal drop of water, which was brushed away by a long finger. Hal's hands reached down even further, caressing his taut belly and fingertips lingering over the reddish gold curls of his crotch that peeked above the water. Then, Hal slowly turned around. As he did so, he tilted his head to the left, giving the Huntsman a clear view of the mole at the right side of his neck.

 

Suddenly, Eric felt a wave of disorientation, so that his hand went up to his head to steady himself. As he lifted his gaze once more, he blinked hard at the magical vision of his wife Sara as she bathed in a lake back in Tabor. Sara had tilted her head to the side, baring her neck to her beloved husband so that he could see the tiny mole that he so loved to kiss. Eric lifted his hand to his wife, seeing the beckoning look in her eyes. He knew what she was going to say to him then. Three sweet words…

 

 

 

**"HOW DARE YOU!"**

 

That unexpected outburst shocked the Huntsman out of his pleasant reminiscences. Great was his dismay to behold an outraged Hal storming toward him. Furious as the Prince was to have his idyllic swim disturbed, he had simply bundled up his clothes and was clutching them tightly over his nude frame.

 

When the two men were standing face to face, all Eric could stammer in his defense was, "Now, now, Your Highness. Don't be angered so. You know that your father ordered me to look after you."

 

"Yes, you were looking alright!" Hal retorted. "Your eyes were so big and round while you watched me bathe, one would think that you were a perverse owl! And I thought you were an honorable man! HAH! With your eyes alone, you have defiled me worse than those men who dared attempt to take my virtue!"

 

"WHAT?" Eric sputtered. Flabbergasted as he was by the Prince's accusations, his brogue became even more pronounced as he exclaimed, "Ye think too highly o' yerself if you believe that I've been watchin' ye with lustful intent!"

 

"Then what sort of intent did you have?"

 

"Well, My Prince, ye reminded me o' a colt I once had. All gangly with long legs trippin' all o'er the place. But, I have to tell ye though. He did not turn out to be a good breeder on account o' defects in his bollocks an'…"

 

Before the Huntsman could say more, a hard, devastating knee was driven into his groin. With a choked groan, Eric collapsed, writhing, on the ground, clutching his throbbing privates.

 

 **"BOLLOCKS TO YOU, YOU LECHER!"** Hal spat in his face as he marched off.

 

"Ye got a marvelous arse though, Your Highness!" Eric squeaked after him, the shock of the compliment causing Hal to stumble on a rock and fall right on top of an arching tree root, so that his backside was tantalizingly lifted.

 

As Hal picked himself up from that most uncompromising position, his cheeks now flaming red, the Huntsman cackled in perverse glee, "Aye! Thy arse is truly a sight to behold. Like freshly baked golden bread buns popped straight out o' Mistress Quickly's oven!"

 

 **"JUST DIE, YOU BLOODY CONGER!"** Hal shrieked in fury, picking up a dried branch and throwing it at his wheezing tormentor, who swiped it away with his arm.

 

Even though he was in pain, Eric could not stop the laughter from bursting from his lips, as he watched the abashed Prince try to recover what little dignity he has left and storm back in the direction of the castle.

 


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I quite like how this chapter has turned out, despite all the work and the depression that made it difficult for me to think, much more write. :)

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright April 27, 2013 By Rory**

**Chapter 5**

 

With war looming on the horizon, the atmosphere at The Boar's Head was somber, even morose. The few people who were in the tavern were just fiddling with their tankards, unable to drink even a single drop of sack at the thought of the battles that lay ahead.

 

From his quiet corner, Eric saw Poins slumped against the railing, deep in thought. He momentarily caught the young man's eye, who acknowledged him with a slight nod.

 

Not surprisingly, it was Falstaff who broke the disturbing silence as he stood up from the creaky bench he was sitting on. Poins lifted his head then, giving the Huntsman a look which clearly said, "Listen to him."

 

Turning to Bardolph, whose nose was flaming red as always, the fat man complained, "Bardolph, don't I look rather shriveled since our last robbery? Haven't I gotten a lot thinner? Have I not shrunk? My skin is hanging loose upon my frame like an old lady's gown!"

 

"Sir John, you complain too much," Bardolph replied, his voice slurred from drink. "You know very well that you're just a few steps away from the grave."

 

"Yes, you're absolutely right," Falstaff surprisingly agreed with the drunk. With a wave of his hands, he urged the drowsy musicians in the corner, "Come on, men. Make me happy. Sing dirty songs. I want to laugh. Lord only knows that I lived my life as a proper gentleman—gambling for not more than seven days a week, going to whorehouses  not more than…" He paused briefly to count on his fingers. "…once every fifteen minutes. And I paid my debts three, four times over. Back then, I lived a good life within its proper boundaries. But now, I live appallingly with not an ounce of moderation."

 

Eric could barely stifle his chortle at what Falstaff's cohort said next. "Lord John, you are so fat, so you have no choice but to live without any moderation. Moderation does not suit you."

 

"You can tell me to fix my life once you have fixed your face! Your face is like the flagship of our royal fleet with a light on its bow…except that the light is that flaming red nose of yours."

 

"And what problem do you have with my face? It's not doing anything to hurt you!"

 

"Yes, you're right. What am I saying? That face of yours is actually useful to me," Falstaff hastily amended. "When I look upon it, I am always reminded of a skull or a death token, turning my thoughts instantly toward the flames of Hell and those poor, miserable souls that burn in it for all eternity. If you were a pious man, I could swear an oath upon your face, saying 'Now, by this fire, which is the angel of god.' Then again, you are a most sinful man. If your face weren't always lit up, one would think that you're the son of darkness. Why, when you ran up Gadshill that night of our robbery, I thought you were a fireball or a will-o-the-wisp and…"

 

Bardolph cut him off with an infuriated wave of his hand. "'Sblood! How I wish my face were in your belly!"

 

"Heaven forbid! If that were to happen, I'd surely suffer from heartburn!" A frazzled Mistress Quickly entered then, and Falstaff fixed her with a gimlet eye. "Well, well! If it isn't Dame Nagging Hen! Have you already determined who picked my pocket?"

 

Mistress Quickly stared at the corpulent man before her, grievously affronted. "Just what is it you're insinuating, Sir John? That my tavern is a den of thieves? I've searched everywhere, questioned every single boy and man working for me, and even my husband. No one has ever lost even a fraction of a hair in this place."

 

"LIAR!" Falstaff spat back. "Doesn't Bardolph get a shave here? Just look at him! He's lost most of his hair! I swear to you, someone picked my pockets. To hell with you, you're a woman!"

 

"What is that supposed to mean? Who, me? By God, I've never been so insulted in my life!"

 

"Oh, don't pretend to be the innocent! I know you too well!"

 

"Oh, no! You don't know me at all, Sir John, but I know the kind of man you are, Sir John! You're the one who owes me money, and now you're trying to worm your way out of paying me by making such a fuss!"

 

Their exchange of words turned into a full-blown argument with a lot of name calling. Even poor Bardolph found himself caught right in the middle of it. With an exasperated sigh, Eric sipped his ale, as Poins sidled over to him, a similar look of disgust on his face.

 

"Are they always like this?" Eric inquired from the Prince's best friend.

 

"Yes," Poins confirmed with a shake of his head. "And it will only get worse. Just keep on listening…"

 

Falstaff furiously bellowed then. **"THE PRINCE IS A BASTARD AND A SNEAK!"**

 

Eric's head lifted instantly at that blatant insult. Turning to Poins with a look of shock and disbelief on his face, the young man shrugged nonchalantly and said, "I told you so."

 

Falstaff, for his part, was unperturbed by the annoyed looks that were being thrown his way and continued with his tirade. "'Sblood, if he were here, I'd put a cudgel to him like a dog!"

 

"Watch your mouth, you big bag of sack!" the Huntsman growled, no longer able to keep his silence. "Have you forgotten that the Prince is your benefactor? Since he has been paying your debts and keeping you out of trouble, you should show a little gratitude and loyalty."

 

"At last! The wraith of The Boar's Head speaks!" Falstaff declared mockingly. "You are the one they call the Huntsman, am I correct? The brash newcomer who has gained favor from the King himself and has now been placed at the prodigal Prince's side." The fat man waddled over to Eric. "Tell me, my kind sir. What good fortune are you blessed with that you have advanced so quickly?"

 

"'Tis not good fortune that I earned the King's trust. 'Tis nothing more than sincerity on my part that I have his and his sons' best interests in mind, something I have displayed with action and not just with words."

 

"Ah, yes! I have heard about your gallantry toward the Prince from someone." Falstaff glanced briefly at the quizzical faces of the few people inside the tavern. Only Poins and Mistress Quickly kept their expressions neutral. Inching his nose close to the Huntsman—a considerable effort since the younger man was taller than him—he said in a low voice, "But tell me the truth, my boy. While 'tis true that you have fended off the Prince's would be ravishers, have you not sated yourself upon his honeyed flesh while he lay sleeping? Or perhaps…" A small smirk curled up a corner of his lips. "…'Tis the Prince who rewarded you himself by spreading his pale thighs to you in your own bed."

 

In one swift motion, Eric shoved the obese fool against the wall, drawing cries of alarm from the tavern's patrons, and pressed the tip of a sharp dagger against his quivering mouth.

 

"Not another foul word, old man," Eric mumbled in warning. "Or you will find yourself without a tongue like those men who dared to touch him."

 

Much to Falstaff's relief, Prince Hal chose to make his entrance into the tavern then. Throwing a dark glower at the Huntsman, he pushed the younger man back into his seat and greeted the royal with a broad smile. "How now, my boy! What is happening? Shall we be marching against the rebels?"

 

"Aye, like condemned men on the way to the gallows," Bardolph muttered in his cup, earning him a kick in the shin from his fat leader.

 

Falstaff's relief was short-lived, however, when Mistress Quickly hurried toward Hal to state her grievances. "My Lord, I beg you to listen to my woes!"

 

Although Eric can see that Hal was in no mood to deal with trivial matters, he asked the tavern owner with concern, "What troubles you, Mistress Quickly? Is it your husband? God, I hope not. He is a fine, honest man, and I think highly of him."

 

Falstaff insinuated himself between the sobbing woman and the Prince. "Pay her no mind, My Lord, and listen to me instead."

 

"What is wrong, Jack?" Hal inquired with a tilt of his head.

 

"I'm telling you, lad. This place…" Falstaff waved his arms to the old woman's establishment. "It is no tavern, but a brothel! Why, last night, when I fell asleep behind the arras here…" He flipped back the tapestry covering the space beneath the stairs. "…Someone picked my pockets!"

 

"And what did you lose?"

 

"Can you believe it, Hal! Three, four bonds each worth forty pounds! They even stole my grandfather's seal ring!"

 

"All junk, Jack. They're not even worth eight pennies."

 

"Exactly what I told him, My Lord," Mistress Quickly interjected. "And when I told him that I heard you say the same, oh the vile things he said about you. The foul-mouthed man that he is, he said he'd cudgel you."

 

With both eyebrows raised, Hal turned to Falstaff, aghast, "What, he did not!"

 

"I swear, My Lord. If he did not, I am neither faithful, trustworthy, nor womanly."

 

Eric observed how Hal rolled his eyes as the kindly mistress exchanged heated words with the corpulent knave. At one point, the Prince pursed his lips, trying to hold back his laughter, when Falstaff called Mistress Quickly an otter, saying that she is "being neither fish nor mammal so that a man wouldn't know where to have her."

 

Seeing that the Prince was more inclined to side with her, Mistress Quickly again brought up the matter of Falstaff's insults. She also added, "Why, the other day, he said you owed him one thousand pounds."

 

"Is that right, Jack?" Hal gazed down at the sputtering man darkly. "Am I indebted to you for a thousand pounds?"

 

Ever swift with his rebuttals, Falstaff exclaimed, "Nay, Hal! Not a thousand, but a million pounds. 'Tis your love that is worth a million, and it is this same love that you owe me."

 

"Pah!" the mistress huffed indignantly. "He called you a bastard and a sneak and said that he'd cudgel you!"

 

"Did I really say such a thing, Bardolph?" Falstaff asked his drunken cohort.

 

Bardolph answered solemnly, "Indeed, Sir John, you said so."

 

Realizing that he was caught, Falstaff switched tactics and feigned offense. "Yea, 'tis true that I said those things, if he claimed that my ring is copper and nothing but junk."

 

"And I will continue to say that it is made of copper because it is the truth. So will you dare hold true to your word and beat me?" The Prince rose to his full height in challenge.

 

"If you were but a mere man, I would dare. But you are also a Prince. I fear you just as much as the roar of a lion's cub."

 

"Why fear the cub and not the lion?"

 

"The King alone is as frightening as a lion. Do you think that I'm afraid of you as much as I fear your father? If I am, then I pray that God breaks my belt and gives me bad luck 'til the end of my days."

 

"Oh, but if your belt did break, then your guts would drop down to your knees!" Hal glared at Falstaff disapprovingly. "Sir, there is no room in your bosom for trustworthiness, faith, or honesty. It is completely filled up with stomach and innards. How dare you accuse an honest woman of being a pickpocket? You whoreson, you rude, bloated rascal! I'll be damned if there was anything of value inside your pockets except for bonds from taverns, notes from bawdy houses, and a measly piece of sugar candy to give you energy. If there was anything valuable in your pockets, only then can you call me a liar. And yet you persist in standing by your lies. You won't even try to hide the bad man that you are! Have you no shame?"

 

To Eric's surprise, Falstaff actually had the nerve to look abashed. "So, do you confess to picking my pockets then?"

 

Poins stood up and handed Hal the bills and the copper ring. With a wry grimace, the Prince stated, "It appears so by the story." He gave the items to the fat man, who readily turned around to give words of forgiveness to an appalled Mistress Quickly—who was the one more in need of an apology from the rogue—before sending her away.

 

The matter concluded Hal went to the nearest table. His blue gray eyes instantly fell upon the Huntsman, but rather than acknowledge Eric, he sat down in a chair with his back to the other man.

 

Falstaff eagerly went to Hal's side. "What news at court, Hal? What about our robbery?"

 

"It seems I played a good angel to you again, you slab of beef. The money is paid back."

 

Falstaff pouted. "I don't like the sound of that 'paying back'. It always means double the work."

 

"Of course you'll have to work for it! You'll be commanding an infantry company, Jack."

 

At these words, Falstaff lamented his fate and, with a large measure of irony, thanked God for the rebels for troubling good people like him. Hal ignored his rants, though, and ordered Bardolph off to deliver letters to his brother Lord John of Lancaster and the Earl of Westmoreland.

 

Getting to his feet to leave with Poins, the Prince had one parting command to his errant friend. "Jack, meet me tomorrow at Temple Hall at two o'clock in the afternoon. There, I shall give you the list of your troops, some money, and an order for the equipment that they will need in the battlefield. The country is burning, and Percy is riding high upon the flames. And either we or they must in battle die."

 

As Hal and Poins left The Boar's Head, Eric stood up as well and hurried after the royal. When he emerged from the tavern, he saw the Prince exchange a few words with his best friend before parting ways, with Hal striding down the narrow street and Poins departing through a side alley.

 

"Your Highness, wait!" the Huntsman called after that tall figure, hastening his steps into a sprint.

 

For some reason, the Prince slowed his gait, although not turning to look at him, allowing Eric to catch up with him.

 

"Huntsman, if you are here to hurl barbs at me again, I am not in the mood," Hal stated in clear warning.

 

"But if I recall from our past exchanges, you gave as good as you got, so you can say we are even," Eric simply put in. When the Prince refused to take the bait, he breathed out a sigh. "I find you confusing, My Liege," Eric mumbled truthfully.

 

That statement caused Hal's eyebrows to rise up into perfect arches. "Oh? How so?"

 

"You continue to call Sir John Falstaff 'friend'. But the man insults you behind your back. Ever since I arrived in London, I've heard the terrible names he's been calling you and how low he thinks of you."

 

"And you believed every word he said, which would account for your equally poor opinions of me as well."

 

Eric was taken aback by Hal's words. Feeling ashamed by that calm rebuke, he could only lower his head humbly.

 

The Prince, however, ignored the wounded look on the Huntsman's face. "The late, unlamented King Richard II once told me that it is not enough to learn the ways of the court. I should also learn from the ways of the common people, to know what they are capable of—both the good and the bad. In doing so, I shall be more aware of any potential acts of deceit and treachery that people, regardless of rank  and class, are capable of making. It just saddened me that Richard eventually succumbed to the madness, to the evil."

 

Hal paused, twiddling his fingers restlessly. "When we were in Ireland, on the day before we returned to England, the last words that Richard said to me were, 'Don't remember me for the man I am now. Remember me as the man I was…before the madness.' These were words which he kept on repeating over and over again to me since he took me under his wing following my father's banishment."

 

It was then that the Prince turned and looked straight into Eric's eyes. "Not a single day passes by that I don't remember Richard or his words. I am always haunted by the memory of my beloved cousin lying dead inside his coffin. All of you may think ill of me now, oh, but believe me when I tell you that I **_am_** learning the ways of this mortal coil, and I will make full use of this knowledge when I ascend to the throne."

 

"And your earthly tutors, like Falstaff, what is to become of them?"

 

"They don't know this, but while they think me ignorant of their backstabbing, I too am testing them—to see if time will change them for the better."

 

"What if they don't change? Falstaff, in particular, is an old man. You cannot teach an old dog new tricks."

 

Hal simply shrugged. "Then, they shall pay for their insults and for underestimating a prince—for a cub has sharp fangs like his sire, the lion."

 

"I was right all along about you," Eric remarked in solemn disapproval. "You are merely using them for your own advancement."

 

"In much the same way that they are using me. In this regard, you can say it evens everything out." Hal breathed in deeply and let the air out in a long, drawn exhalation. "I know you heard my…lamentation…that day I was in the alley. I saw you watching me and, from your face, I've seen you draw conclusions about me. Frankly, I don't care. As much as I detest the fact that the crown will be placed upon my head one day, I swore to myself that this country will not fall into ruin under my rule. I will not make the same mistakes that Richard and my father had made."

 

Eric nodded thoughtfully. "Your vow is an honorable one, Your Highness. I pray though that your so-called 'friends' now will be more understanding of how you will treat them in the future. Despite all his insults toward you, anyone can see how much Falstaff loves you. It would break his heart if you should discard him like a piece of trash."

 

"If Jack does not wish me to abandon him, then he should prove himself to me. 'Tis as simple as that. But if he does not, how can I wear a king's mantle of honor if a man whom I associate with does not comport himself in an honorable manner?"

 

"There are things much greater than honor, My Liege." Eric inquired hopefully, "Perhaps…if you would be willing…I could teach you of these things?"

 

Hal let out a small laugh. There was nothing mocking in that laugh though. Just a lot of pain and bitterness. "You are the epitome of the morally upright, Huntsman. Unfortunately, there is nothing that I can learn from you."

 

Eric could not understand why he felt so crestfallen at that rejection of his offer. "Why do you say that, Your Highness?"

 

A tender smile formed on Hal's lips which caused the Huntsman's heart to flutter. With sorrowful tears limning his eyes, the Prince replied, "What else is there for me to learn from you that I don't already know?"

 


	7. Chapter 6

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright May 4, 2013 By Rory**

**Chapter 6**

 

It was a very early Wednesday morn; in fact, the sun had yet to rise, but already the city of London was bustling with organized activity. Before long, the castle gates opened and Prince Hal rode out on his black charger, with the Huntsman close behind him on a dark bay steed. Assembled in the courtyard were the troops under the Prince's command, grim-faced, determined men, all prepared for the battle that lay ahead of them. Clad in armor and chain mail, Hal urged his mount into a sober walk through them, giving his soldiers a cold, appraising eye. A small smile teased the corner of his mouth, pleased at their readiness, and he made a most imperceptible nod. Eric did not even have to bark out the command. The men formed two lines behind their Prince, and marched, rigid-backed, after his solemn form.

 

Following the incident at The Boar's Head, Hal had bestowed the rank of captain upon Eric, enabling the Huntsman to find more able-bodied—and most importantly, willing—men to join their troops. It was that qualification which caught Eric by surprise, something that he found himself expressing to the young royal.

 

"I will not press a man who is obviously afraid or who is more concerned about the safety of his home and his family," Hal had explained to the curious Huntsman. "He is more likely to abandon his fellow, and we cannot have the troops demoralized or, worse, be inclined to flee in the heat of battle. While we need strong men in body, we need men who are stronger in conviction, for it is they who shall win the war with us."

 

" ** _With_** us?" Eric asked with a lift of his eyebrows.

 

"But of course!" The Prince looked at him as if he had gone daft. "For are we not soldiers like them? Huntsman, if you think me or my father as the type of royals who would command our men behind the lines, you're wrong. **_We_** fight with **_them_**."

 

Needless to say, Eric's impression of the wayward prince went up several notches higher at that answer.

 

Hal led his troops tirelessly through Gloucestershire, acquiring more soldiers through every town they passed thus increasing their numbers. They were met along the way by the Earl of Westmoreland, who was more than delighted—and visibly relieved—to find the Huntsman at the Prince's side.

 

It was at Warwickshire that they caught up with Sir John Falstaff and his troops. Bardolph had gone ahead to purchase ale for his master. There was no mistaking the disappointment on Hal's face when he beheld the ragged infantry of one hundred fifty men that Falstaff commanded.

 

As they neared the waddling fat man, he actually had the gall to greet them, "What, Hal, how now, mad wag! And many pardons, my good Lord of Westmoreland. I thought you were at Shrewsbury ahead of us."

 

"I was, Sir John, but I came to meet the Prince," Westmoreland replied. "But my army's already there, and it's about time I rejoin them. The King awaits us, so march away we must all night."

 

"Never fear," Falstaff reassured with a huff and a puff. "I'm as vigilant as a cat planning to steal cream."

 

"You're right about stealing cream," the Prince remarked sarcastically. "You've stolen too much that it's made you into butter." Fixing a gimlet eye on his friend, Hal asked, "Tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come after you?"

 

"Mine, Hal. All mine."

 

"I never saw such pitiful rascals in my life."

 

"Now, now. They're good enough to die, food for cannon powder. They'll all fill a pit as well as better men. All of them, they're all just mortal men."

 

Eric noticed how Hal's lips tightened at that blatant disregard for human life.

 

"Aye, that maybe so, Sir John," the Earl put in, "but I think they look exceedingly poor and bare in the bones, like beggars."

 

"I don't know where they acquired their poverty, but as for their being bare-boned, they certainly did not get that from me."

 

"That's for certain, if you say that those several inches of fat over your ribs makes you bare in the bones," Hal declared, not hiding his irritation. "But, make haste, Sirrah. Percy awaits us in the battlefield."

 

Eric lagged behind, watching as the Prince and Westmoreland rode up the hill. When they were out of sight and hearing range, he leaned over to Falstaff.

 

"Tell me the truth, you slab of guts," the Huntsman hissed. "How much did you get from pressing this miserable lot?"

 

"Three hundred pounds," Falstaff answered with casual truthfulness. "Of course, I earned more than that from those lily-livered cowards who bribed me from recruiting them into the army."

 

"The Prince needed brave, fighting men. Not beggars who only desire bread from the army's coffers or thieves and looters. I will not let this stand, Falstaff. I will inform His Highness about this."

 

"Go ahead! Tell him!" Falstaff taunted. "As if the King will turn these sorry fellows away when we're so close to the battlefield."

 

Eric gritted his teeth as he said in mockery, "Your loyalty toward the Prince is laudable. I hope you don't live long enough to see the just rewards that it will bring you."

 

"Oh, I'll live long, Huntsman, to find myself with a title and lands. Of that you can be sure of!"

 

"I will not listen anymore to your vain foolishness," Eric spat, incensed, as he hurried after Prince Hal, Falstaff's wheezing laughter an irritation in his ears.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Eric, however, did not get to see the Prince again until late afternoon of the next day as they were pitching camp. Prior to that, he had the misfortune of running into Jack Falstaff once more. The old fool was doing nothing except tromp aimlessly around the camp, muttering about the utter uselessness of honor.

 

"What is honor? A word?" Falstaff mumbled in derision. "What is in that word 'honor'? Nothing but air. A measly bargain. Who possesses it? The man who died on Wednesday. Did he feel it? No. Did he hear it? No. Is it something insensible? Yes, to the dead it is. But will honor not live with the living? No. Why? Because slander will not tolerate it. Therefore, I'll have none of this thing called honor. Honor is nothing more than a gravestone. And so ends my catechism."

 

"Don't call your prattle 'catechism'," Eric chided him from where he stood beside a tent. "You are no man of honor."

 

"Ah, but I still live."

 

"If you can call being a thief and a leech to one's friends living. Even if you don't have a single honorable bone in your body, you should feel some shame at least at the way you've been treating the Prince so horribly. But then again, what can I expect from a man who is nothing but guts and fat."

 

The Huntsman ignored the curse that the fat man threw his way as he stormed off to the spot where the command tents were being erected. He arrived just in time to find Hal emerging from the royal tent which he would be sharing with the King and his younger brother.

 

Seeing the displeased expression on Eric's face, the Prince asked, "Is something troubling you, Huntsman, or does this _something_ have a name?"

 

"You have read my mind, Your Highness. It is Falstaff that troubles me."

 

"Why? What did Jack do now?"

 

"Those men that he recruited are beggars, thieves, slaves, and cowards. Not only did he keep most of the money for their supplies to himself, he accepted bribes from those who refused to fight with us."

 

Hal exhaled heavily. "Somehow, I'm not surprised that he would do something like this. That's why I only had the Exchequer give him three hundred pounds. For the other companies, I had released a thousand pounds each."

 

"But Falstaff's men are useless to us," Eric insisted. "When we fight, they will most assuredly flee. Right now, they are more burdens to us than assets. Instead of helping our soldiers, they just sit and stare into open space."

 

"I thank you for bringing this matter to my attention, Huntsman," Prince Hal patted his shoulder. "But don't worry. I will personally take care of it."

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Eric saw Sir Walter Blunt get on his horse and ride off in the direction of the enemy camp.

 

"The King has Sir Walter deliver a message to Hotspur and his army," Hal explained, noticing the Huntsman's distraction. "He desires to know their grievances and offers to make amends for them, with interest. If they would disband their troops, my father guarantees absolute pardon for all of them."

 

Eric shook his head. "They won't accept. They believe that your father wronged them, considering that they once supported him in his cause against King Richard II. This is not a simple act of rebellion. This is a matter of festering grudges, sullied honor, and stubborn pride."

 

"Still, my father won't give up hope that they would see reason. But, I do agree with you. The only thing we can do now is to prepare for what the morrow brings." Hal looked Eric meaningfully in the eye. "If we should fight, I don't want you guarding me alone. Go to the aid of any man who will find himself in trouble with his foe. There are no royals in battle, Huntsman. We are all brothers of the blade."

 

With that, the Prince left Eric alone to ponder his words.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Later that evening, unable to sleep, Eric decided to join the watch as they made their rounds. He had just inspected the weapons tent when he decided to check out their supplies, fearing that Falstaff's miscreant soldiers might decide to steal some food.

 

Instead, he found Hal emerging from the tent with large loaves of bread in his arms. Two of his men were carrying a heavy cauldron of stew. Curiosity getting the better of him, he decided to follow the Prince.

 

Great was his surprise when he saw Hal enter Falstaff's camp. Because of their dubious reputation, they were billeted at the periphery where it was hoped that they would not cause trouble. As Eric looked on, the Prince had his men set up the cauldron over the campfire.

 

"You there! What's your name?" Hal gestured to a thin man who was eyeing the steaming cauldron hungrily.

 

"They call me Humphrey, My Lord," the man answered timidly.

 

"And where's your corpulent commander, Humphrey?"

 

"Drunk, My Lord, with his captain Bardolph under yonder tree. He would not be roused."

 

"All the better," the Prince said smiling. He then called out, "Come, men! Gather yourselves by the fire. I brought food that is much better than the slop that Falstaff has been feeding you."

 

No further coaxing was needed. Starving, the poor beggars hurried over to the fire. With great cheer, Hal handed out breads and bowls, which were in turn filled to the brim with stew by his two soldiers who stood beside the cauldron with ladles.

 

"Are you hungry, Huntsman?" Hal inquired, turning expectantly to where Eric was hiding behind a tree. "There's enough food for everyone."

 

Caught as he were, what else was Eric to do?

 

In the next hour or so, the Prince dined and shared bawdy stories with Falstaff's men. To Eric, what Hal was doing was short of magical. With nothing more than genuine sincerity and worldly wit, the Prince transformed the men right before the Huntsman's eyes. Gone was their earlier timidity and cautious accord toward the royal. As they laughed and shared one toast of ale after another, it was as if Hal has always been one of them.

 

Or perhaps—even before he started consorting with Falstaff and his ilk—this was what Harry Monmouth, Prince of Wales, has always been.

 

A Prince of the People.

 

Then, one man with a sparse beard and rheumy eyes—yes, his name was Kendall, the Huntsman remembered—asked the question that no one dared to speak. "My Lord, on the battle tomorrow, what are we to do? We are not soldiers. We…we only came because we were promised ten shillings for every day that we are in the battlefield."

 

Hal lifted his gaze to the Huntsman. Eric did not need to guess what was on the mind of the young royal. Ten shillings was much, much less than a soldier's pay. Even those who were not trained fighters but belonging to the other infantries were paid a soldier's stipend. There was no mistaking the fact that Falstaff was cheating these poor souls of their money, not to mention their lives.

 

Hal set his bowl down on the ground beside him and looked at the frightened men before him. "As I sit before you now, I give you my word that every man here shall be given his rightful wages as a defender of this kingdom. But, if any of you possesses not the courage or the conviction to join us in this war, you are free to leave, with a pouch of crowns as payment for having accompanied us this far. I will not force a man to fight in a battle which he feels is not his."

 

A deep hush fell upon the camp. Standing above the silent figure of their liege, Hal's two soldiers looked helplessly at the Huntsman. Eric understood their concern. The loss of a single man would not be missed. But an entire infantry, especially when they are uncertain of the enemy's numbers?

 

The thought to intercede entered Eric's mind. "Your Highness…" he began to suggest.  "…If I may speak to these men…"

 

A twig cracked a few meters from them. Hal and Eric, together with the soldiers, leaped to their feet and drew their swords.

 

"WHO GOES THERE? SHOW YOURSELF!" the Prince shouted in challenge.

 

"'Tis I, My Prince." A weary Sir Walter Blunt emerged from the trees, leading his horse.

 

All exhaled in relief. Sheathing his sword, Hal declared, "Sir Walter, you gave us quite a fright. What news have you from Harry Percy?"

 

Blunt sadly shook his head. "Not good, I'm afraid. Hotspur has refused the King's offer. Tomorrow, we go to war."

 

"We must go to my father and inform him of this terrible news." The Prince turned to the soldiers. "Tell everyone to get enough rest this eve for we wake before dawn tomorrow. We must be ready for the battle ahead."

 

Nodding, the soldiers gave Hal curt bows before running off, with Blunt following after them.

 

Turning his attention back to Falstaff's men, he said, "If you wish to leave, you must do so now while it's still dark. I shall ask the King to grant you all safe passage."

 

The men looked at one another and exchanged nods. Eric wondered what this meant.

 

Kendall stepped forward. "My Lord, we wish to stay and fight with you…if you would have us, inexperienced as we are."

 

"We do not possess the fighting skills of knights or soldiers," another man put in, "but maybe we can inflict a blow or two."

 

A grinning man with a sizeable gap between his upper teeth declared, "I could bite the bollocks off that Percy fellow!"

 

Everyone laughed at that remark, including Hal who could not hide his relief.

 

"That won't be necessary, friend." Eric strode forward, clapping the gap-toothed man on the back. He gazed at the Prince, smiling. "If you have no need of me, Your Highness, I would like to teach these men how to fight."

 

"You have my permission, Huntsman," Hal said, beaming, his tears of joy glistening in his eyes.

 

"We are yours to command, My Prince," Kendall stated determinedly. "Lead us into battle and we shall die for you."

 

"No, my good gentlemen," Hal countered with a shake of his head. "For my first command to you all, I order you to fight with every ounce of your strength, but do not die, not for me and not for the kingdom. Live, so that you may return home heroes to your loved ones."

 

All the men broke into a cheer, raising their swords in acknowledgment of their kind, valiant prince.

 

Gazing at the smiling royal before him, Eric mused with great pride, _Never have I been so glad to be wrong. Hal, Prince of Wales, you **will** make a good king._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the Battle of Shrewsbury! ;)


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pardon any errors that you might see. I'm rushing to get this done in order to be able to concentrate on work. :(

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright May 15, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 7**

 

When King Henry IV's army rose before dawn, they discovered that snow had fallen in the night, covering the battlefield with a thin, yet chilly white blanket.  This was going to be a problem, most of the men thought. It would make the ground muddy and slippery. Fighting would be difficult on such a terrain. A misstep, a slip, and it could mean death.

 

What prevented the soldiers from voicing their concerns out loud were the stoic figures of King Henry himself and Prince Hal who stood before them, surveying the troops of the enemy that lay ahead. Eric was with his men, but his blue eyes remained fixed upon the Prince he was tasked to protect.

 

"How bloody does the sun look as it peers above that large hill," the King chatted amiably with his son. "And how pale the day looks as well. It must be sickened to see the sun in such an ill mood."

 

Hal agreed with his father, adding, "The southern wind also plays its trumpet, foretelling a stormy, windy day."

 

With reassuring cheerfulness, Henry said, "Then, let it sympathize with the losers. To the victors, nothing will seem foul."

 

Their attention was drawn toward two dark figures who were galloping toward them in their fine mounts. There was no mistaking the moue of disgust on the King's face when he recognized the traitorous Earl of Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon. Stopping before the royals, they quickly got down from their horses.

 

"How now, my Lord of Worcester?" Henry greeted the arrivals. "It is not right that you and I should meet upon such circumstances as these. You have betrayed my trust. You forced me to set aside my comfortable robes of peace and urged my old body to don the hard steel of military armor. This is not well, My Lord."

 

"My Liege, I do protest," Worcester began, and Eric was surprised that the knave could still address the King as such, "I did not seek this day of war."

 

"You did not seek it?" Henry asked in sarcasm. "Then tell me. How did this day come to pass?"

 

Falstaff could not resist sniping, "Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it."

 

Appalled that the man he called friend would say such a thing, Hal hissed, "Peace, windbag, peace!"

 

Unable to resist, Eric sneaked up behind Falstaff and gave him a hard slap at the back of the head.

 

With the fat man thus silenced, Worcester continued to air his grievances. "Let me remind you, My Lord. We were the first and dearest of your friends. It was I, my brother, and his son who brought you home, without any fear of the danger of the times. But so soon, when such a flood of greatness fell upon you, you seized the opportunity to sway the general sentiment of the people into your hands, thus making you completely forget your oath to us at Doncaster. And, just as we nourished you, you used us as a cuckoo bird uses a sparrow and…"

 

Infuriated, the King lunged at Worcester, only to be pulled back by Hal. Distressed by these accusations, Henry lurched a few short feet away and vomited on the snowy ground. For a moment, Hal looked at his father with deep concern, before facing the man who ordered his violation.

 

"Tell your nephew," Hal said to the Earl, his gaze firm and true, "I, the Prince of Wales, join the whole world in praise of Henry Percy. I don't believe that there is any braver gentleman,  more daring or more bold, who is now alive." He heaved a sigh, heavy with regret. "For my part, I will admit it with great shame that I have been a truant to chivalry. Yet this, before the majesty of my father, I will, to save further bloodshed on either side, challenge Percy to a one-on-one fight."

 

Hearing his son's words, King Henry straightened up and walked toward them, patting Hal's shoulder approvingly for his honorable challenge. "We love our people well, Worcester, even those who have been misled by your nephew. If you will accept my offer of pardon, he, they, and every man, shall be my friend again, and I'll be his." He moved close to the evil earl so that only the other man could hear his next words. "And yes, this includes you, old friend, even if you have plotted the brutal defilement of my son." Aloud, he declared, "Our offer is fair. Take it advisedly."

 

Worcester took a step toward the King as if he were going to say more. In the end, he decided to keep his silence. But nothing can hide the sheer hatred that was reflected on his face. Throwing the monarch one last hard glance, he and Vernon got on their horses and went back to their troops.

 

Hal shook his head, forlorn. "On my life, he will not accept your offer."

 

But King Henry was already resigned. "Then let God be our friend this day, for our cause is just!"

 

As everyone hurried off to make ready for the battle ahead, Falstaff grabbed Hal's hand before the Huntsman could stop him, and took the Prince briefly aside. "Hal, if you should see me fall in battle, I beg that you stand over me, as an act of friendship."

 

Hal jerked his arm back, irritated at the old man's foolishness. "Nothing but a colossus can do you that friendship. Say your prayers, and farewell."

 

"I would if it was bedtime, Hal, and all was well," Falstaff put in as he watched the Prince get on his steed.

 

"Why, you owe God a death!" were the last words that Hal said to him before he rode off.

 

"'Tis not due yet!" the obese rascal yelled back at the Prince's departing figure. "I'd be loathed to pay him before the due date!"

 

Eric urged his mount over to Falstaff. "Watch your own back, old man, because no one would be inclined to watch it for you."

 

Ignoring Falstaff's inane sputters, the Huntsman went over to the Prince who was giving his men kind words of encouragement. It was a striking contradiction to Percy's hot-blooded spiel which he was spewing across the battlefield.

 

"To arms, fellows, soldiers, friends! Arm yourselves with speed!" Percy's words rang out, loud and clear, in the moist, wintry air. "Briefly consider what you have to do. I do not possess the gift of tongue to lift your blood with persuasion. Let each man do his best. Let this Harry meet their Harry, my horse against his horse. Thus we'll meet and never part, till one of us drops down a corpse!"

 

There was a reassuring pat on his shoulder. Eric's head turned to behold Hal's gentle, smiling face. "Don't look so worried, Huntsman. I'm not afraid."

 

That last statement troubled the Huntsman. _Are you resigned to die?_

 

But Eric was never able to ask that query out loud. The King gave out the order for all the troops to get ready. Before Eric even had time to breathe, the command "Charge!" was given, and everything else was drowned out by the sounds of frenzied battle cries, thundering horse hooves, and the clashing of steel.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Swing, hack, thrust. Swing, hack, thrust. Swing, hack, thrust.

 

Hal's movements have become automatic in the melee he found himself mired in. It disturbed him greatly that he was already numb to the sensation of his blade piercing a man's guts or grating against bone. It was so easy to die in this horrible place. And yet, he had to fight, not only for his father's kingdom, but also for the men whom he had promised to protect.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kendall, with targe and sword in hand, outnumbered by four men. With a tug on the reins, Hal swung his horse around, so that its hooves lashed out at two of the men. The third he downed with a sword thrust through the neck. Kendall easily dispatched the fourth. With a nod, Kendall gratefully acknowledged the assistance of his Prince.

 

The same could not be said for Falstaff. Hal frowned at the sight of his fat friend walking idly, mumbling to himself, among the combatants as though he were strolling through a park. To add to his further irritation, he saw how Falstaff glowered down at the corpse of Sir Walter Blunt and spat into the muddy earth with disgust. Hal was distracted, however, by the fierce cry of an enemy soldier who was about to hack his horse. Whirling, he thrust his sword into the man's chest, just above his breastplate, only to have his blade wrenched out of his hand as his would be attacker fell dead.

 

Urging his horse toward Falstaff, Hal demanded, "What? Why are you standing here doing nothing? Lend me your sword!"

 

"Oh, Hal, please," Falstaff begged the Prince, who was circling him on his mount. "Give me a moment to catch my breath. Turk Gregory has never seen a man fight with such heroism as I did today. I have killed Percy, made certain that he is safe."

 

"He is safe indeed. In fact, he's coming right now to kill you. I prithee, lend me your sword."

 

Falstaff, however, shook his head. "No, Hal! I swear it on God's name! If Percy's still alive, you will not take my sword from me. But, here's my pistol. You can use this instead."

 

"Hand it over." Hal leaned down from his horse to grab the leather holster that Falstaff handed to him. "Is it inside this holster?"

 

"Aye, Hal, it's hot, hot indeed! It could sack a city!"

 

To Hal's dismay, though, what he pulled out of the holster was not a pistol but a flask of sack. "What, is this a time to jest and dally now?" Enraged, the Prince threw the bottle down, smashing it on a rock at Falstaff's feet.

 

"MY LORD! CATCH!"

 

Hal turned his horse around just in time to catch the sword that was thrown at him. He smiled at the Huntsman, who merely nodded to him, before kicking his steed onward into the heat of the fighting once more.

 

Time can play tricks on a man's mind while he is in the midst of battle. Minutes seemed to pass as hours, and hours as minutes. Hal dared not even glance at the sun's position to determine the time of day. But he was already wearying. His sword arm ached from the seemingly endless swings and thrusts. His face and his armor were splattered with blood and sweat. To his dismay, his vision was dimming, but it was not from exhaustion.

 

Blinking hard, Hal saw images overlapping with his view of the battlefield.

 

Of a defenseless village being attacked by warriors in black armor…

 

Of women and children screaming in terror and helplessness as they tried to flee from their attackers…

 

Distracted as he was, Hal never saw the two soldiers sneaking up behind him. With a surprised cry, he was tackled to the ground from his horse. Before he knew what was happening, he was being pummeled with heavy blows.

 

Through his horrified eyes, however, Hal was not seeing the soldiers who were beating him to a pulp, but someone else.

 

A leering man with his white hair cut in a ridiculous bowl shape.

 

"Is your husband not here to save you?" the man whispered lasciviously in his ear. "Let me show you who the better man between us is."

 

 ** _"NO! I WILL NOT LET YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN!"_** Hal screamed, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. **_"GET OFF ME! GET OFF!"_**

 

Blinded by terror of a vision which did not belong to him, the Prince threw his attackers off him. With no thought of fighting tactics, Hal swung his sword in wild arches, trying in vain to keep anyone and everyone at a distance from him. In his fright, he never saw the soldier who was creeping up behind him with spear in hand. When he turned, Hal let out a scream as the spear pierced his shoulder.

 

 ** _"HARRY!"_** the Prince barely heard his father's horrified cry. Neither did he see Henry barrel the soldier down with his horse and split his skull with his blade. At the sight of the terrible shape his son was in, the King said, "Please, Harry, withdraw from the battlefield right now. You're bleeding too heavily." He then called out to Prince John who was fighting not too far away from them. "John of Lancaster, go you with him."

 

"I won't leave, My Lord," John declared firmly. "Not until I'm bleeding as well."

 

Hal shook his head. "I beseech you, Your Majesty, press on. If you fall back, your army will lose heart."

 

The King grimly nodded to his eldest son. "I will do so." To his second son, he said, "Now, do not dally. Lead him to his tent and then rejoin us."

 

Throwing his brother's arm around his shoulder, John helped Hal away from the battlefield. But before they could reach their camp, they were set upon by rebel soldiers.

 

"Let me go, Brother," Hal told John, who was eyeing the armed men surrounding them warily. "You will need your sword arm to fight them."

 

"I'm not leaving you!" John declared, insistent.

 

To both the princes' relief, the Huntsman came charging forward on his steed. Jumping down from his horse, he let his powerful axe fly, keeping the soldiers at bay.

 

"Go on, you two!" Eric said between gritted teeth, as he lopped off a man's head. "I can handle this."

 

Grasping John's helmeted head, Hal whispered in his ear, "Watch over the Huntsman for me, Brother."

 

Before the Duke of Lancaster could argue, Hal wrenched himself from his brother's hold and ran into the woods.

 

The Prince darted blindly through the trees, dodging soldiers and rebels who suddenly crossed his path. A thin mist filled the area so that he had difficulty in determining which direction he was headed. Thankfully, the mist lifted slightly before him and he found himself in a small clearing. Panting for breath, Hal yanked the chainmail off his head and let his sword and shield—where he got the shield and from whom he could no longer remember—drop to the ground. He bent over, hands gripping his knees.

 

His rest, however, was woefully brief because another soldier entered the clearing. Then, the man spoke, his voice arrogant and jeering, and Hal knew who he was in an instant.

 

"If I'm not mistaken, you are Harry Monmouth," Hotspur declared in glee.

 

Hal swiftly picked up shield and sword. "You speak as if I would deny my name."

 

"My name is Harry Percy," Hotspur introduced himself as confirmation of his identity.

 

"Why, then I see a very valiant rebel of that name!" Hal then roared in challenge, " ** _I am the Prince of Wales_** , and think not, Percy, that I will let you share in my glory anymore! Two stars cannot keep their motion in one orbit!"

 

Hotspur could not agree more.

 

It was Hal who charged first, sweeping his sword in an upward arc followed by a thrust. But Hotspur blocked it easily with his own blade. The two men exchanged swipes, slashes and thrusts, but both were able to parry the attacks of the other. As they fought, it gradually dawned on Hal that it was Hotspur who had the distinct advantage, being relatively unscathed. Hal, on the other hand, can feel blood spurting from the spear wound on his shoulder, so that the shield grew increasingly heavy in his grip.

 

Hotspur saw his opponent flagging and a triumphant smile crossed his face. "The hour is come for the end of one of us, and I only wish to God that your reputation in battle were not as great as mine."

 

"My reputation will exceed yours when I part from you," the Prince proudly taunted. "All the budding blossoms of honor on your helmet I shall cut to make a garland for my head."

 

"I cannot stand your arrogance any longer!"

 

With utter ferocity, Hotspur charged at Hal, forcing the Prince back with strong swipes of his sword. Exhausted as he was, Hal was hard pressed to defend himself. During one unguarded moment, Hotspur managed to swat Hal's shield viciously to the side, wrenching the torn muscles in his shoulder, and score a hit on his leg. Now hampered by the wound in his shoulder and an injured leg, Hal threw away his shield and gripped his sword with both hands. Trying to keep his balance, Hal parried the rebel's blows as well as he could, only to be felled to his knees by a hard overhand swing. Hotspur then kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

 

The Prince lay gasping on the sodden earth, his vision blurring from the kick and the blood and sweat in his eyes. He could barely make out a just as weary Hotspur who was stumbling toward him with sword ready to deliver the death blow.

 

But then, Hal's vision cleared and he saw the Huntsman smiling before him.

 

 _"Never forget,"_ the Huntsman said to him in reminder. _"Wait for him to get close. Watch his hands, not his eyes. Do not move, not until you feel his breath. When he's close enough, drive it through his heart. To the hilt. Keep your eyes locked on his, and never pull it out until you see his soul depart from them."_

 

As the vision cleared, Hal's blue gray eyes flew wide, seeing Hotspur about to thrust his sword point into his belly. He twisted his body to the side and out of the way, so that the rebel's blade was driven into the ground. At the same time, Hal thrust his long dagger into Hotspur's heart.

 

Hotspur fell back on the earth, his eyes round in shock and disbelief. "Oh, Harry, you have robbed me of my youth!" With choked gasps, he uttered, "Percy…you are…dust…and food for…" His body became limp as he expired.

 

"For worms, brave Percy," Hal concluded for him, feeling a deep sense of regret and loss for the dead young man before him. "Farewell, great heart. Your ill-weaved ambition, look how much it has withered your soul! When this body held a spirit, an entire kingdom was too small to contain it. But now, two paces of wretched earth is room enough to hold it." He crossed himself and offered a prayer to his fallen foe. "Adieu."

 

As he painfully got to his feet, the Prince was dismayed to find Falstaff lying dead beneath a tree. Limping toward his friend, he knelt down and laid his hand over the bulky frame.

 

"What, my old friend!" Hal lamented. "Could not all this flesh keep in a little life? I would rather that a better soldier had been lost than you." The Prince made the Sign of the Cross for Falstaff. "Poor Jack, farewell. I'll have you disemboweled for your embalming soon. Till then, lie here in blood by noble Percy."

 

Hal stood up once more and made his way back to the battlefield in search of his brother and the Huntsman. If he had only glanced back, he would have seen Falstaff rise from faux death and desecrate poor Hotspur's body with a sword thrust to the thigh.

 

It did not take long for the Prince to find his younger brother.

 

"Hal!" John cried happily as he rushed to his elder sibling's side, draping Hal's arm over his shoulders.

 

"Percy's dead, John," Hal revealed to the Duke of Lancaster, "And with it, hopefully, the rebellion." Regretfully, he added, "Poor Jack perished as well."

 

John gave his brother a reassuring squeeze. "At least he acquitted himself as a good soldier in the end."

 

"Where's the Huntsman?" Hal inquired.

 

"Right here, Your Highness," Eric replied, wiping the blood away from his axe with a piece of cloth torn from a dead man's cloak. "I'm happy to see you still alive."

 

"I have you to thank for that," Hal said in sincere gratitude. "I remembered what you taught me—about how to drive a dagger through a man's heart and wait until his soul leaves his eyes."

 

The Huntsman stared at the Prince, blue eyes blinking. Shaking his head in confusion, he stammered, "But…I did not teach you this."

 

Their exchange was interrupted by the appearance of a heaving Falstaff. The obese knave bore Hotspur's corpse on his shoulders.

 

"Did you not tell me this fat man was dead?" John asked, frowning.

 

"But I did! I saw him dead!" Hal was equally bewildered. Behind the two princes, the Huntsman scowled at the rogue in suspicion. Limping toward Falstaff, the Prince demanded, "Are you alive? You are not what you seem!"

 

"No, that's for certain I am not some double. But if I'm not the real Jack Falstaff, then I'm a scoundrel pretending to be him." Falstaff dumped Hotspur's body on the ground and pointed straight at it. "There is Percy! If your father will honor me for this, so be it. If not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I'm thinking a title of 'earl' or 'duke' would be fine with me."

 

Hal stared aghast at the devious rogue, not believing the appalling demand for credit for a kill which was definitely not his. "Why, I killed Percy myself, and I saw you dead!"

 

"Did you? Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!" Falstaff retorted in exasperation. "It's true that I had fallen and was out of breath, but so was he. Percy and I stood up at the same time and fought for a good long hour. If you believe what I'm telling you, all well and fine. But if not, then let guilt fall upon those heads who are supposed to reward valor. I swear it on my life! I gave him this wound in the thigh. If Percy were alive and would deny it, I'd make him eat a piece of my sword."

 

None of them could speak, at first, at the absurdity of Falstaff's story.

 

"This is the strangest tale that ever I heard," John said as much.

 

Hal knew, though, that it was useless to press the truth, seeing that Falstaff was determined to stand by his lie, outrageous though it may be. "Ah, but this is the strangest fellow, Brother John!" He then turned to the corpulent scoundrel, shaking his head and laughing. "Come then. Bring your luggage nobly on your back. For my part, if a lie may give you grace, I'll gild it with the happiest words I can."

 

The Prince gazed proudly at his sibling. "Come, Brother, let us get to the high ground of the battlefield to see who among our friends are living and who are dead." He rubbed John's head briskly. "You have certainly proven your bravery and fleshed your maiden sword in this, your first battle."

 

As John aided his brother back to the battlefield, Falstaff said in undisguised joy. "I'll follow them, as they say, and claim my reward. May God reward him who rewards me. If I do become a great man, I swear I shall eat less, grow thinner, and stop drinking. I shall live cleanly as a nobleman should."

 

Falstaff jerked as Eric struck his large bottom with the flat of his axe. "Hold true to your oath, you fat bastard," the Huntsman growled, not hiding his anger at Falstaff's duplicity. "I shall be watching you."

 

"Leave him be, Huntsman!" Hal called out, hearing the man's threat. "His lie has my blessing! Let him reap its rewards while he can!"

 

Eric was about to argue, but the Prince silenced him with a mere glance. Understanding Hal's meaning, he nodded grudgingly and followed the princes.

 

Reaching the battlefield at last, Hal could not hide his sorrow and dismay at the vast number of dead that littered the muddy ground, some of them men from his own infantry. Great was his relief though when he saw the smiling faces of Falstaff's ragtag company.

 

 _Thank you, God,_ Hal prayed gratefully, _for keeping these poor men safe!_

 

King Henry IV sat proudly on his steed, with a grinning Westmoreland at his side. "How goes the field?"

 

Pulling out of his younger brother's arms, Hal took two limping steps forward. With a raise of his sword, he shouted, **_"THE DAY IS OURS!"_** His triumphant cry drew cheers from their tired, but happy troops.

 

 ** _"Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke!"_** Henry declared proudly. He lifted his right hand to halt their cheering, but ended up clenching it into a fist and pressing it against his head. Hal, unaware of his father's distress, eagerly limped toward him, only to pause, his eyebrows knitting together in concern, at the sight of the King struggling with his ailment.

 

Fighting back the tremors that were threatening to seize him, Henry straightened up on his horse. "Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, meeting the check of such another day!"

 

The King then urged his horse forward to survey those who have fallen on the battlefield. Hal looked worriedly at his father and was about to go after him.

 

**_"DEATH TO BOLINGBROKE! DEATH TO HARRY MONMOUTH!"_ **

That bloodthirsty cry did not register to Hal at first. What he noticed initially was the sky suddenly growing dark, as if the sun had been snuffed out. And then, there was a sharp, terrible pain in his face, and all he could see was the red of rage.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Eric was too stunned to act. The hail of arrows came too fast and too suddenly that his cry of warning remained lodged inside his throat.

 

All he could do was stare at the arrow sticking out of the Prince's right cheek.

 

To his horror, it seemed Hal never felt the arrow enter his face. Or perhaps he did, because his blue gray eyes reflected the blind fury of a wounded beast. Without any thought for his safety except to avenge this indignity upon those cowardly rebels hiding on the hill, Hal charged with a furious roar, bearing only his sword in a tight, two-handed grip.

 

 ** _"ONWARD, MEN!"_** Eric yelled to the nearest soldiers—Prince John and Falstaff's infantry. They did not hesitate, charging up the hill after their Crown Prince and the Huntsman, using both shield and sword to deflect the rain of arrows.

 

For half an hour, they fought the rebels with ferociousness akin to the brave, albeit almost mad, form of the Prince of Wales. Sticking to the young royal's back like a burr, Eric lashed out at any man who dared to get near Hal. He was especially mindful of the arrow shaft protruding from the Prince's face. If it should be moved or dislodged in any way… No, Eric did not want to think about it!

 

Soon, the remaining rebels lay dead at their feet. Still gripped with bloodlust, however, Hal could no longer discern friend from foe, swinging his sword at anyone indiscriminately.

 

"Huntsman, don't!" John yelled at Eric in warning, seeing him approaching an insane Hal.

 

But Eric ignored him. Striding toward the enraged Prince, he seized Hal's blade, the edge slicing his left hand open. With his right hand, he tenderly cupped that trembling face.

 

"Lay down your sword, My Prince," the Huntsman said gently. "It's all over."

 

However, there was only terror and madness in Hal's eyes. As Hal let his sword fall to the ground, what the Prince said next stunned the Huntsman to the core of his being.

 

"Eric, why did you leave me?" Hal cried, shaking the other man's shoulders. "They slaughtered everyone! He...he…" His arms wrapped around his body in disgust, as if he had just endured a most savage violation. One hand then went up to his neck. Before he could heave a sigh of relief to find his throat not cut open, his fingers brushed against the arrow shaft on his face. "No! NOOOO!"

 

"Calm down, My Lord!" Eric urged him pulling the increasingly distraught Hal down to the ground with him. Inside his mind, the Huntsman was practically screaming, _How do you know my name?!_ Instead of asking that question, though, he continued his soft reassurances. "All will be well, I promise. Just rest, My Prince." He turned to John, who was just as lost, and yelled, **_"GET A HEALER! NOW!"_**

 

"I'll go," Kendall volunteered as he hastened down the hill, screaming at the top of his lungs for aid.

 

Tears streamed from Hal's eyes as his fingers caressed the Huntsman's face. "Please don't let me die a second time, Eric! I don't want to leave you, my love!"

 

Eric cradled the wounded Prince in his strong arms, his face mirroring his shock and disbelief. "Sa…ra?"

 

Hal did not speak anymore. Exhausted and overwhelmed by the pain, he fell limp in the Huntsman's embrace.

 

"No! Sara, no!" Eric began to weep, shaking his head, not noticing the confusion on John's face. In anguish, he tilted his head back and cried out to anyone who might hear him. **_"SOMEBODY HELP US! PLEASE! OH PLEASE HELP US!"_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is, without a doubt, the most difficult one that I have ever written in a fanfic. As you have just read, I've decided to combine the events in "The Hollow Crown" and in actual history. The main problem that I had to deal with is the matter of Hal and the arrow that struck his face. I've checked quite a number of references and, except for one, they have all stated that the arrow became embedded in the LEFT side of Hal's face. However, if you take a closer look at Tom Hiddleston's photos from "Henry V", you will see that King Henry's scar was on the RIGHT side of his face. (Strangely enough, Hal did not have said scar in "Henry IV Part Two)." To be consistent with the miniseries, I opted to stick with the arrow getting embedded on the right side of Hal's face. But for those of you who want me to be true to history, the actual site of the arrow wound was the left cheek.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the title of this story finally makes sense. (Please pardon any errors that you may see here. I am rushing work on this chapter so I can do another fic.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with lovely art by Madara-Nycteris! <3 Thank you so much!!! ;_;

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright May 28, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 8**

 

Eric rode through the woods, driving the horse he had borrowed at a breakneck pace. Despite the speed by which he galloped through the trees, he kept the wounded prince cradled between his strong arms and thighs, particularly mindful of the arrow that protruded from the right side of his face. Behind him, he could hear the panicked urgings of Kendall and the rest of Falstaff's infantry for the small group of healers to hurry up. But he dared not look back at the laggards. Instead, his eyes were focused on the lone soldier in front of him who was leading them toward the holdings of a lord who was good friends with King Henry IV.

 

 

All the while as he rode, Eric kept on repeating over and over again, _"Snow, I truly hope you are looking through the Magic Mirror right now. Please! Sara…Prince Hal…God, I'm so confused… Please, Snow! He's terribly wounded. I don't know what to do!"_

 

To his relief, the Huntsman's blue eyes finally beheld the small keep. Thankfully, the gates were already opened—Prince John had sworn to him that he would send someone ahead—so that he rode through unimpeded. Carefully minding his precious charge, he swung his long legs over the saddle and slipped down the side of the horse.

 

The old lord and his wife hurried over to them, both gasping in horror at the sight of the arrow.

 

Eric noticed their stares and he begged earnestly, "My Lord, My Lady, could you please spare us a small room with a comfortable bed? And perhaps a mirror." Before the strange request could register inside their heads, he added, "His Highness would want to see the wound on his face."

 

Although shaken by the gravity of the Crown Prince's wound, the Lord nodded, "We already have a room prepared for His Highness. My wife will bring you a mirror immediately."

 

Eric turned briefly to Kendall and his men. "You wait here for the King and the Duke of Lancaster. I believe the Earl of Westmoreland will be with them as well." He jerked his head brusquely to the healers, who were doubled over, panting for breath. "You come with me."

 

Entering the keep, the Lord led them through narrow corridors and gray granite halls, and up staircases. As they reached the wing on the third floor where the private suites were located, he turned right, heading straight for the chamber at the end of the hallway. The Lord pushed the door open, gesturing toward the bed covered in clean linen. To the Huntsman's gratitude, he saw that two small tables had been placed beside the bed, one of them already with a basin of hot water and clean towels sitting on top. Eric gently laid Hal on the bed, removing the blood-drenched cloth he had used to wrap around the arrow's shaft.

 

"Tend to the Prince now," the Huntsman commanded the healers, who all seemed at a loss on what to do. "I'll be back." He was about to leave when a hand gripped his wrist. Eric looked down to find Hal staring back at him through terrified blue gray eyes.

 

"Don't leave me," Hal whispered beggingly.

 

Eric went down on his knees beside the bed. Pressing a towel to the hideous wound, he said with a reassuring smile, "I promise I won't be gone long. Let the healers take care of you."

 

Hal stared at the Huntsman's face, gauging his sincerity. Never had he looked like a little boy as he did at that moment. Remembering what he was, however, his expression hardened, although he was not fully able to conceal his disappointment. He released his hold on Eric's wrist.

 

"Go do what you have to do," the Prince ordered brusquely, training his eyes toward the ceiling, not wanting to look at the Huntsman. "I'll be fine."

 

Eric was more reluctant to leave Hal then, but he needed that mirror. "I'll be right back."

 

A sharp glare at the healers prompted them to act at last, as they surrounded the bed to see what they could do for the Prince. Heading for the door, the Huntsman paused briefly to spare one last glance at the royal. Hal was watching him leave, but as soon as their eyes met, he turned his gaze away. Eric could not hide his hurt at that move. It only made him feel as if he was abandoning the Prince to a terrible fate.

 

As soon as he stepped out the door, Eric was met by the Lady who, not surprisingly, was carrying in her hands a small hand mirror.

 

"My Lady," he began, slightly abashed, "I'm afraid I would need a bigger mirror. About this size." The Huntsman spread his arms wide, indicating a tall, almost man-sized mirror.

 

The Lady blinked at him comically before saying, "There is a large mirror in our chamber. It is heavy though. But I'll have the servants bring it in."

 

"That would be most kind of you," Eric declared gratefully, only to jump when there was a scream inside the bedroom. Squeezing the woman's hand, he pleaded, "Please have the mirror brought in immediately."

 

Entering the chamber once more, the Huntsman was stunned to find Hal thrashing and screaming on the bed, being held down sideways by the healers. One man was seated behind the Prince with a trephine and a small hammer. Another man was seated in front, gripping the arrow shaft. It was all too obvious to Eric what they were planning to do—chip a hole at the back of Hal's skull and then push the embedded bodkin through it.

 

 ** _"GET AWAY FROM HIM, YOU FOOLS!"_** Eric roared. He stormed over to the healers at once, those holding the Prince quickly retreating from his enraged figure. The man who was about to trephinate Hal stumbled backward, his stool tipping over and his tools falling to the floor. The other healer was shoved back, but because he had a tight grip on the arrow, the shaft was pulled out with wrenching force, causing Hal to scream in agony. The Huntsman paled, realizing the near disaster that occurred because of him. He sat down on the bed and cradled the sobbing Prince in his arms.

 

"It is you who is the fool!" the oldest healer retorted, just as angry. "We could've gotten the bodkin out the other side! Now it's still stuck inside his face—six inches deep—with no means to pull it out!"

 

"If you had persisted in what you were planning to do, the arrowhead would have gone straight through his brain and he'd die instantly! I've seen a similar injury before in a comrade during the wars. He did not survive the 'care' of his healers!"

 

"Then what do you propose we do then? All we have are potions and herbal cures!" The healer insistently pointed to the Prince's facial wound. "We have NOTHING to get that bodkin out! He will die from infection, in agonizing pain! Is that what you want for His Highness?"

 

Eric could not speak at those blaming words. Although the guilt at his mistake was eating him alive, nothing can compel him to release his protective hold on Hal.

 

"Eric, if they cannot remove the arrow from my face, then I'd rather you kill me now!" Hal sobbed in his shirt. "I will not endure this torture anymore!"

 

The Huntsman pressed his lips to the top of the Prince's head. "Don't say such things, Your Highness. I'm sure we can think of something. Don't think about dying. Please!"

 

"But it hurts so much, Eric…"

 

"I know, My Prince, I know. If there is some way that I could take the pain away from you…"

 

Eric barely stopped his body from reacting at that wishful thought. _There was a way!_ In fact, it was tucked safely in its pouch inside his shirt. But dare he risk using it…

 

At that moment, the door burst open and an immaculately dressed bearded man strode inside the room with a grim-faced Duke of Lancaster following at his heels.

 

"Perhaps all of you quacks should stand aside and let a real doctor do his work," the stern stranger declared in irritated dismissal, rolling up his sleeves at the same time. He washed his hands and arms in the basin, scrubbing them briskly with lye soap. He then ordered one of the healers, "Tell the Lord that we would need more hot water. Have his servants boil a cauldron full."

 

Eric gazed questioningly at Prince John. Hal's younger brother gave him a small, reassuring smile. "This is John Bradmore, a surgeon from London. He has treated some of our soldiers, and the men think highly of his skills."

 

When he was done with his ablutions, Bradmore told the Huntsman, "Lay His Highness back down so that I could examine him."

 

Nodding, Eric did as he was told, pushing a pillow beneath Hal's head. The surgeon took the Huntsman's place at the bedside and inspected the wound carefully, his fingers gentle as he poked through the torn flesh.

 

Straightening up, Bradmore approached Eric and Prince John. "It's not impossible to remove the bodkin," he explained. Before they could exhale in relief, the surgeon quickly added, "But I would need to enlarge the wound."

 

"How do you intend to do that?" Prince John inquired, clearly not liking what he was hearing.

 

"I would need to insert tents…probes…of graduated length and thickness into the wound. Once it is wide enough, we will extract the arrowhead." The surgeon asked, "You were both in the battle? What does the bodkin look like?"

 

"Narrow iron tip," Eric described. "It is hollow in the middle to accommodate the shaft."

 

"We can't extract it with a regular pair of tongs then. Since the arrowhead is in the shape of a tube, it will be hard to grasp. Not only that, the tongs themselves would split the Prince's face even further wide open." Bradmore shook his head. "God, this is going to be difficult. There is also the matter of pain. It would be pure agony for His Highness."

 

"What are you going to do?"

 

"We need to dull the pain first. I could prepare plasters of opium, laudanum, henbane, or maybe hemlock. Still, they are woefully inefficient and unpredictable. At this point, though, we need to try anything. The longer that bodkin stays in His Highness' face, the greater the risk that he could die."

 

"Do what you must, Bradmore," John declared. "I shall take full responsibility for this decision."

 

Bradmore nodded to the Duke of Lancaster solemnly. He waved to the healers. "I need your help to prepare the plasters. Show me what herbs and potions you have."

 

The surgeon and the healers filed out of the room. John was going to follow them, but the Huntsman grabbed his arm.

 

"My Lord, opium? Laudanum?" Eric began. "We are putting the Prince's life at even greater risk!"

 

"What would you have me do, Huntsman?" John cried in despair. "I don't want my brother to die." Tears began pouring from his eyes. "Not like this!"

 

"I have…something…that might help." The Huntsman swallowed hard. Even he was reluctant to offer the suggestion, knowing what… ** _it_** …could do. But it was either this option or witness Hal…his beloved Sara…suffer before his eyes. "But I need you to trust me, My Lord."

 

Prince John looked him straight in the eye. "My brother was acting strangely while in the throes of delirium. He called you by name, which even I and my brothers do not know. And you called him 'Sara'. Why?"

 

"Sara was my wife. While I and the men of our village were fighting in the wars, our women, children, and elderly were attacked by a dark army. My wife was violated and her throat cut. I've mourned for her for so long, blamed myself for her death."

 

Realization dawned upon John. "Hal is your wife Sara reborn. This would explain his seemingly insane ramblings earlier."

 

"Yes, but there is more to this story. I will tell you and Lord Westmoreland all later. The King himself has some knowledge of what is going on. However, at this point, I need your permission to help His Highness."

 

"But…"

 

They were interrupted by a feeble voice coming from the bed. "John…"

 

"Brother?" the Duke rushed to Hal's side.

 

"You've been talking about me as though I'm not here," Hal complained. "Don't I have say on what's to be done to me?"

 

"Brother, I'm so sorry. But we are so worried about you and we want you to get through this."

 

"Yes, yes, I know, but in this suggestion of the Huntsman, I will make this decision for myself. I will trust Eric."

 

"But Hal…"

 

"John, I have nothing more to lose except my life. The pain…it's indescribable and unbearable. If Bradmore is to remove the bodkin from my face, I need to be insensate." Hal turned to the Huntsman. "Eric, there's a woman's voice inside my head telling me that you can drive this pain away. Give it to me. Now. Before I change my mind."

 

Eric hesitated briefly. In the end, he reached inside his shirt and pulled out a pouch. Untying its laces, he upended the pouch and let the juicy red apple fall into his palm. With his knife, he sliced the apple into five smaller pieces. Because his hands were trembling, the blade slipped, so that he ended up cutting a sixth sliver which fell, unseen, on the bed covers.

 

Lifting Hal's head from the pillow, the Huntsman pressed a slice to his lips. "Eat this, Your Highness."

 

The Prince's lips parted and he took one bite and then two, chewing on the apple slowly. Smiling hopefully, he whispered, "My life is in your hands, Eric. I'm counting on you."

 

Suddenly, Hal sat bolt upright, his whole body tense and taut. His hands flew to his chest, feeling his lungs constricting and his heart beating rapidly.

 

 ** _"What is happening to him?"_** John demanded.

 

The Huntsman did not reply. Instead, he clung to the gasping, choking Prince, waiting for the poison to do its work.

 

Bradmore chose to reenter the room at that moment with one small plaster already prepared. Seeing Hal in an obvious state of physical distress, he shouted, **_"WHAT DID YOU GIVE HIM?"_** His eyes fell upon the apple slices in Eric's hand. Snatching them, he gaped in horror as the red fruit turned into a dark, fibrous thing in his hand, its flesh reeking of decay.

 

 ** _"NO!"_** Eric cried, but it was too late. The surgeon threw the slices into the fireplace where they exploded into sparks.

 

King Henry IV entered the chamber then with the Earl of Westmoreland. The two men stopped in their tracks as Hal fell limp on the bed.

 

 ** _"HAL!"_** John cried, too afraid to touch his brother. He could only hover at the bedside, his eyes filling with tears.

 

 _"Your Majesty, please have this man arrested this instant!"_ Bradmore pointed accusingly at the Huntsman. _"He has poisoned the Prince with a fruit the likes of which I have never seen before!"_

 

Henry stared aghast and disbelieving at Eric. Stumbling to his eldest son, he shoved John aside. Bending down, he pressed a hand over the cooling cheek before laying his ear on top of Hal's chest. Hearing no heartbeat, he lifted his head, his eyes reflecting shock, grief, and then fury.

 

Lunging at Eric, the King grabbed his shirt, shaking him hard. **_"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?!"_**

 

"Your Majesty, you must believe me when I tell you this," Eric said weakly. "Your son is still alive. He is just under a spell and…"

 

A heavy fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor. The Huntsman looked up, horrified, to behold Henry unsheathing his sword.

 

"You have played me for a fool, Huntsman. With your lies and your fairy tales, I blindly trusted you. But now, my dear Harry is dead!" The King yanked his sword out of its scabbard, slowly approaching Eric with the clear intention of lopping off his head. **_"A LIFE FOR A LIFE!"_**

 

Hal, who lay on the bed unable to move, heard the swish of a blade against leather. He wanted to scream for his father to stop, but he could not utter a sound. In his despair, a tear fell from the corner of his eye.

 

Eric had seen that single tear fall from the still figure lying on the bed. _I'm so sorry I failed you again, Sara…Hal…_ was Eric's last thought as he closed his eyes, waiting for the killing strike.

 

**_"STAY YOUR SWORD, MY KING!"_ **

 

Through his closed eyelids, Eric discerned a bright flash of light. Opening them, he saw that the light was coming from the mirror which two frightened servants were carrying. Before they could drop it, Eric leaped to his feet and pushed the glass and its sturdy wood frame against the wall. As he drew back, he could not help the smile of relief that curled up his lips.

 

"I was afraid that you did not hear me," the Huntsman whispered, brushing his hand against the cheek of the lovely image reflected in the mirror.

 

"I have heard your cry for help in my dreams, Eric. I apologize for not being able to contact you sooner," was the sincere reply.

 

"No apologies, My Queen. Finding a mirror is difficult when one is fighting a war. But you're here now, and this is all that matters."

 

Eric turned then to find everyone inside the chamber gaping at the beautiful, smiling vision inside the mirror. In his shock, King Henry ended up dropping his sword.

 

"Your Majesty, My Lords…" the Huntsman began in proud introduction, waving gallantly to the young woman in regal raiment. "…May I present to you the Queen of Tabor, Snow White."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, a delicate operation is performed on Prince Hal. ;)


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein a dangerous, delicate operation is performed on Prince Hal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pardon if you see any mistakes. As you can see, I've already incorporated the arts that Madara-Nycteris have made in this fic. You can find them in Chapters 2 and 3. Thanks a lot, dear! Hope you like this new chapter!! Thank you also to cuteskitty who's been a loyal follower of this fic on Tumblr!
> 
> EDIT: Sweet Art by Madara-Nycteris now added in this chapter! >X3

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright June 8, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 9**

 

Eric's proud introduction of the Queen of Tabor led to deafening silence to descend upon everyone inside the chamber. No one was inclined to believe that the Snow White in their favorite childhood stories actually existed. And yet, there she was, reflected in the mirror, her radiant beauty further enhanced by the kind smile on her face. For a moment, they wondered if they were experiencing a shared hallucination.

 

But then, a distinguished gentleman took his place beside Snow White, causing Westmoreland's eyes to widen. "Hammond? Cousin, is it really you?"

 

The Duke of Carmathan smiled and nodded to the Earl. "Yes, Coz, 'tis indeed I. I know I haven't changed much since we last saw each other. Living in a fairy realm has a way of retarding time and aging." He waved toward the handsome young man who stood at the Queen's other side. "My son William, and King Consort of Tabor."

 

"Tabor? 'Tis nothing but a legend, like Camelot!" Bradmore crossed himself.

 

King Henry shushed the surgeon for his rudeness. "She stands right before your eyes and, yet, you refuse to believe!" Bowing courteously to Snow White, he acknowledged, "I am most honored and thankful that you have chosen to grace us with your presence, My Queen. What service can this humble king and his kingdom do for you?"

 

"Your Majesty, it is I who shall be offering my service to you," Snow White replied graciously. "The Huntsman is a very dear friend. If it were not for him, I would probably be dead by now. I have heard his cries for help in a dream and I saw what happened to your son through the Magic Mirror. But I was unable to act at once because we needed another mirror at your end so that we will be able to communicate with each other."

 

"My son…my beloved Harry…is he…" Henry stammered, unable to contain his tears.

 

"No, My King. The poison in the apple has placed his whole body in a state of complete rest. While he cannot move and feel pain, he is aware of what is going on around him. I should know. I have eaten a bite of the same apple myself. If you are to extract the bodkin from his face, now is the perfect time to do so while the apple's spell is still in effect." Snow White turned to the surgeon. "Sir, we are going to assist you in this matter. Tell us what you need."

 

Seeing the reluctance on Bradmore's face, the King ordered, "Put aside your doubts and fears, surgeon. My son's life is at stake here."

 

Bradmore gulped hard and nodded. "The healers…I have asked them to make tents of increasing sizes for me to widen the wound on Prince Harry's face. But we don't have good wood to make them out of."

 

To their surprise, five fairies fluttered before the Queen on gossamer wings, carrying the carefully crafted probes in their arms.

 

"The fairies say that they made these from the pith of old elder," Snow White explained. "Wrap them in purified linen and then infuse them with rose honey. These will not only enlarge the wound without further causing damage to his flesh, the honey will allow any dirt that is present to stick to the linen, thereby making cleansing of the wound easier once you have taken out the arrowhead."

 

A familiar annoying voice spoke up. "There's bound to be a lot of grit and dirt in there. If you have white wine, we shall need it to wash out the wound. Then, we use new tents with a cleansing ointment made out of bread, barley and sops to scour out gently any dirt still left."

 

Eric never thought he would see the day that he would be so happy to see Beith's contemptuous mug. "Beith! You're a sight for sore eyes!"

 

"Hmph!" the leader of the seven dwarves snorted. "You can never do anything without our help!" Beith took the tents from the fairies, brusquely ordering them to make more probes, just in case. As the fairies flew off, the dwarf said, "Give the Fairy Elders a moment to work their spell and we shall go to you."

 

"What?" The Huntsman could not believe what he was hearing.

 

Snow White smiled. "The fairies will use the Magic Mirror to open a portal between Tabor and the keep where you are in now. The assistance of the dwarves will be most valuable to you."

 

"Ain't we goin' yet? I'm bored of waitin'!" That voice could only belong to Gort.

 

"If you're in such a bloody hurry, then why don't you just smack your ugly face through the mirror?" Nion declared from somewhere behind Beith. "I'll tell you what. Let me give you a hand or, better yet, a foot."

 

Before anyone could react, seven dwarves tumbled through the mirror in a flash of golden light and fell faces first on the floor at their feet.

 

"IDIOTS!" Beith stood up, kicking both Gort and Nion. "I almost dropped the probes and they shouldn't get dirtied!" He quickly handed them over to a stunned Bradmore. "There you go. Better that they be in your hands before another catastrophe happens."

 

Coll also presented two jars. "We took the liberty of preparing the cleansing ointment already. We added a bit of turpentine oil though."

 

"Turpentine?" Prince John's eyebrows rose, still not believing that he was actually staring at seven little people.

 

"Aye, turpentine can numb pain," Duir replied. "Although the Prince is under a spell, we don't want to risk his suffering from any pain while we extract the arrowhead."

 

Eric went over to Quert to help him in getting his blind father Muir to his feet. The blind dwarf smiled reassuringly and patted the Huntsman's shoulder. "Sir Surgeon?" Muir asked, his voice soft and tremulous. "Have you already figured out a way to remove the bodkin?"

 

"I have a design for special tongs, but the blacksmith of the keep said that he does not possess the skills to make it."

 

"Then he's no blacksmith," Quert remarked with a grimace. "May we see your design?"

 

Bradmore promptly pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to the dwarf. As the dwarves huddled around Quert, he described the instrument to his father. It was indeed a pair of tongs, but the arms were much finer with square grasps at the ends. Muir, however, shook his head.

 

"Your design will not do, Sir. You will need to expand the wound further if you use those grasps and you will disfigure His Highness' face even more. What you need is an instrument that you can insert directly into the socket of the bodkin, replacing the arrow shaft, in order to pull it out."

 

Bradmore hastily pulled out another design and handed it to Quert. "Here. These are also tongs except that, instead of handles to pry the arms apart, you have a screw that will open them. The tongs are in the shape of a tube. With a turn of the screw at the top, the arms will part and press against the wall of the bodkin."

 

Muir smiled brightly. "Yes, yes. That is what I have in mind."

 

Beith snatched the paper. "Gort, Duir, you come with me." To Prince John, he asked, "My Lord, if you will kindly direct us to the smithy."

 

"Yes, this way," John said eagerly, opening the door for the three dwarves, with Quert following after them.

 

Henry felt tears fill his eyes once more. Looking hopefully at Snow White, he asked, "Is my Harry going to be alright?"

 

"Yes, Your Majesty, I promise you he will be fine, but now I must speak with you in private." Snow White also looked at Westmoreland. "My Lord, perhaps you could join the King as well. I'm sure you and your cousin have a lot to talk about." She extended a graceful hand to them through the mirror.

 

"Am I…truly welcome?" the Earl asked, teary-eyed at the thought that he would not only be so blessed to see his beloved cousin again, but that he would also be able to visit, albeit briefly, the realm of the fairies.

 

Henry clapped a hand around Westmoreland's shoulder encouragingly. "The Queen invites us both, Coz. Let us not keep her waiting." He looked at Snow White. "Shall we be done with our talk before my son is…"

 

"I'm sure Prince Harry would not want his Royal Father fretting over him," Snow White said, remembering how everyone had wept over her when they thought her dead from the apple. "But we shall keep the portal open so you can see."

 

The King nodded in gratitude. "I thank you for understanding the concerns of this old father."

 

Eric escorted Henry and Westmoreland toward the mirror, the King pausing briefly to beg the Huntsman, "Please watch over my son for me."

 

"I shall, Your Majesty. Don't worry." Eric watched as the King and the Earl stepped into the mirror, reappearing in the throne room on the other side. The Huntsman felt his heart warmed at the sight of kind Westmoreland being hugged by Duke Hammond and William, who then led the Earl out of the view of the glass, possibly going to the rose garden. Snow White, in the meantime, took Henry's arm and led him toward a small table with food and wine already prepared for them.

 

Remembering his promise to the King, Eric picked up a stool and sat down at Hal's left side, leaving his right open for Bradmore and the dwarves to work. As he laid his arms on the covers, his skin brushed against something small and cold. Lifting the sheets slightly, he saw that it was the sliver of the poisoned apple he had dropped earlier. Thinking that it might still be of use, Eric placed it inside a small vial and tucked it inside his pouch. He then took the Prince's hand in his warm grasp.

 

"You'll be fine, Your Highness," Eric murmured encouragingly in Hal's ear. "My friends shall make sure that all will go well. We'll get that arrow out of your face. You'll see."

 

Eric's trust in the dwarves was well-founded. It took them only half an hour to return from the keep's smithy with Bradmore and Prince John, the probes and the special tongs wrapped in hot, steaming linen laid on top of a silver tray which the Duke of Lancaster carried. Coll and Gort pushed another small table into the chamber, positioning it near the Prince's head. Nion and Duir then hastened to place three bottles of white wine and the jars of ointments that they would need. A few fairies flew through the mirror with additional probes and stayed in the room, waiting to see if any of the dwarves would require their assistance. Quert stood at the side with his father, ready to describe to Muir what will be going on. Surprisingly, both the surgeon and Beith washed their hands thoroughly with hot water and lye soap.

 

"What are you lookin' at?" Beith growled as he stood on top of a stool with his clean hands in front of him.

 

"Nothing, nothing!" Eric shook his head briskly.

 

"You're lookin' rather green, Huntsman," Nion kidded him. "We don't want ye fallin' in a swoon."

 

"Of course I'll do no such thing, ye wee rascal! I promised the King that I'd watch over His Highness!"

 

"A promise that you need not have made," Coll added with a snort of disgust. "Even if His Majesty hadn't asked, you'd still watch over the Prince. After all, he is your…"

 

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

 

It was Bradmore who appeared to be about to faint as he took his place beside Beith. Taking several deep breaths, he steeled himself for the task at hand. "Shall we proceed?"

 

Eric could not help but watch, mesmerized, as the surgeon and the dwarf worked. They started by inserting the linen-wrapped probes into the wound, using the smaller ones first, gently pushing against the wound's edges. They would then remove the tents, replacing them with larger ones, repeating the process over and over until they were able to expose the bodkin which was embedded deep inside Hal's face.

 

It was when they were about to use the tongs that a problem arose. Nervousness and fear overcame Bradmore, and his hands visibly trembled as he was lowering the tongs into the wound. Beith stopped the surgeon before he could insert it.

 

"Your hands are shaking," Beith noted grimly. "You'll either tear the wound even larger or drive the bodkin deeper into the flesh. Give me the tongs, I'll make sure to get it inside the arrow's socket. With your longer arms, you can pull it out."

 

Bradmore nodded in relief as he handed the tongs to the dwarf. Although Beith's hands were steady, Eric could see that the dwarf was just as tense, judging from the beads of sweat that formed on his craggy forehead. But his dark eyes showed their firm determination.

 

Everyone jumped when Beith suddenly cried out, "I've got it! It's inside the bodkin!" Keeping a firm grip on the tongs, he turned the screw slowly until he felt the arms press securely against the arrowhead socket's walls. To Bradmore, he said, "Your turn, Sir."

 

Crossing himself first and committing himself to God, Bradmore took over for the dwarf. Carefully, he moved the bodkin to and fro, loosening the flesh that held it in place. Then, all of a sudden, the bodkin was free. Still, he took great care to pull it and the tongs out.

 

As Beith and Bradmore literally sagged to the floor, the tongs and the arrowhead falling out of the surgeon's grasp, Nion and Duir continued their work for them, flushing the wound out thoroughly with white wine. Coll and Gort, on the other hand, would step forward in between washings to clean out the wound with fresh probes dipped in ointment which were handed to them by the fairies who, in turn, flew back and forth through the mirror to retrieve more tents. When they were done at last, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief, with Muir nodding and smiling as he patted Quert's hand. It was the fairies who performed the final healing touch, temporarily sealing the wound with glittering cobwebs, forming a thick pad, before covering the right side of the Prince's face with a clean bandage.

 

John was too afraid to approach the bed. "My brother…is he…"

 

"He's fine, My Lord," Eric said, beaming. "The operation was a success."

 

"OH THANK GOD!" The Duke of Lancaster fell to his knees and made the Sign of the Cross, offering a prayer of thanks. He then stumbled over to Hal's side. The Huntsman was only too happy to relinquish his spot to John, who promptly held his brother's hand.

 

Walking to where Bradmore and Beith were slumped on the floor, Eric frowned when the surgeon shook his head.

 

"We are not certain yet of the operation's success," Bradmore confessed. "There is still the risk of infection and sepsis, so it would be necessary to clean the wound daily for at least a month until it heals and closes. There is also the matter of the scar that will develop. It will surely disfigure him."

 

"If the Prince is to heal properly," Beith put in, "he has to be brought to Tabor. The fairies have herbs that we can use, not to mention their magic. The wars here…they will not do him good. Seeing how single-minded he is in battle, I won't be surprised if he goes haring out the door with sword in hand as soon as he feels he's able."

 

"And I very much agree with your assessment, good dwarf, especially since my Harry is determined to prove himself worthy of me and the throne of England."

 

At that moment, King Henry and the Earl of Westmoreland emerged from the mirror. While both men seemed pleased with their brief visit to Tabor, there were visible lines on their brows which were not there before. Eric did not have to guess what the topic of their discussion was.

 

"I have accepted Her Majesty Queen Snow White's invitation," Henry said with finality. "A country mired in a rebellion is not a place conducive for healing." He turned to Eric. "I am entrusting my son into your and the Queen's hands."

 

"But what about you, My Liege?" The Huntsman could not help but be concerned about the welfare of the King. "Perhaps you and your three sons could come with us as well."

 

"No, our country needs us," Henry stated determinedly. "We shall hold the fort until Harry is strong enough to join us, but not before. I know he would insist on returning too soon to be by my side. When he does and he proves to be exceptionally difficult, tie him to your bed if you have to. You have my blessing."

 

Eric nearly choked at the words 'your bed'. Did it mean that King Henry knew about… Seeing the monarch give him a secretive wink, his face turned red. Yes, Snow White had indeed revealed everything to Henry.

 

Westmoreland patted Eric's back reassuringly. "Her Majesty and my cousin have given me a potent potion for the King's…condition. I swear to you I shall look after him for you."

 

Prince John stood up from his brother's bedside. "Please take care of Hal, Huntsman…Eric. We shall patiently await the return of you both."

 

Eric regarded each of the smiling, expectant faces in the chamber. In the end, he bowed in acquiescence. Going toward the bed, he carefully lifted Hal into his arms.

 

"We'll be going ahead to prepare the medicines and herbs that the Prince would need," said Muir. With a tilt of his head, the seven dwarves marched into the mirror. The Huntsman was about to follow them, but the King touched his arm.

 

"For my peace of mind, so that I will be sure that my son is truly alive," Henry began hesitantly, "when you cross the threshold, please. I want you to wake Harry up."

 

The Huntsman knew what that would entail. Embarrassed as he was to perform the deed, he dared not break the old royal's heart by not honoring his request. "I will do so, My King."

 

That said Eric stepped through the mirror. For a moment, he felt a sudden lurch in his stomach, as if he had leaped from a great height. Then, he just found himself standing in Snow White's throne room. The young Queen and her husband William, Duke Hammond, and the dwarves were gazing at him encouragingly. Through the Magic Mirror, he could see King Henry arm in arm with his second son Prince John and Westmoreland, waiting with hopeful expectation.

 

As the fairies flitted around him like pale butterflies, Eric tenderly brushed away a lock of reddish gold hair that had fallen over Hal's brow. Sighing, he closed his eyes and kissed the Prince on the lips.

 

Unlike with Snow White, the kiss worked in a matter of minutes. Eric smiled, tears of relief streaking his cheeks, as Hal's eyelids fluttered open. There was an expression of astonishment on his handsome face when he beheld the happy, chittering fairies peering at him over the Huntsman's shoulder.

 

Blinking in mixed awe and confusion, Hal's eyes fell upon the image of his father, brother and the Earl in the Magic Mirror.

 

King Henry, his eyes also glittering with joyous tears, blew his eldest son a loving kiss. "Heal, my Harry. Be well. We shall be waiting for you."

 

Hal lifted his hand to that tender image, whispering, "Father?"

 

Its magic at last spent, the Magic Mirror returned to its gold shield-like sheen, the image of the Royal Family fading away.

 

"Father? John? No, I must be with them!" Hal choked out, as he started to cry.

 

Before the Prince could put up a struggle, Eric held him close, drawing a gasp from Hal's lips. "They'll be fine, Your Highness. They swore that they shall all be at the castle when you return."

 

"But…whe…where am I?"

 

"You're in Tabor, My Prince. The land of magic and fairies. My…no, OUR home."


	11. Chapter 10

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright June 16, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 10**

 

_Hal was standing in a dark, empty space. He knew that it was empty because the sole light did not reveal any furnishings. It was only him and that light…which was emanating from the pretty peasant woman standing before him, gardenias adorning her long brownish blond hair._

_"You are…Sara," Hal said, his curiosity evident in those three words._

_"Yes, I am," Sara replied with an acknowledging tilt of her head and a smile._

_"Am I…you?"_

_"I am who you were in the past, as you are whom I am in the here and now, and what will come to pass."_

_"And the Huntsman…Eric? Who is he to me?"_

_"He shall be what you want him to be…huntsman, guard, friend, confidant…or lover."_

_"What if I cannot choose? What if I don't want him to be any of the men you described?"_

_"Then you break his heart."_

_Hal fell silent at that. Breathing out a burdened sigh, he said bitterly, "But that's what I do. I break people's hearts, especially those who love me. Poins, Falstaff, my brothers, my father…Their expectations are far too heavy for me to bear. Eric's, most of all. He thinks me a disappointment, and I fear that I will prove him right in the end."_

_"I know," Sara nodded her head in understanding. "In the end, you can only be who you are."_

_"And who am I?"_

_Sara smiled sadly at him. "You are Harry Monmouth, heir of Henry IV, and very soon to be Henry V, the next King of England."_

Hal woke up with a gasp. For several minutes, he could only stare at the unfamiliar beams on the ceiling overhead, his mind struggling to remember where he was. What brought him back to the present was the throbbing ache in his face. His hand went up to touch his right cheek, only to have tiny frantic fingers pull the limb back insistently.

 

At the sight of the fluttering light blue fairies glaring back at him through round, disapproving eyes, Hal remembered—the kingdom of Tabor.

 

He slowly sat up, mindful of the weakness of his body. This prompted angry chittering from the fairies who flew around him like frenzied hornets.

 

"Please," Hal said, begging with a raise of his hand. "I don't know for how long I've just been lying here, but I would like to walk for a bit, stretch my legs."

 

"He's right, you know," a strong voice declared from the doorway. "It won't do him any good to be bedridden. Now, all o' ye! Scram! Beat it!"

 

To Hal's relief, the seven dwarves marched into the chamber, shooing away the overly helpful fairies as if they were flies. Before the protesting fairies were ejected, Hal had the sense to convey to them sincerely, "I thank you for taking good care of me. I shall see you all later."

 

Quert closed the door to join his father and the other dwarves at Hal's bedside. Duir pulled out a stool from underneath the bed in order for Muir to stand on it. With gentle fingers, the blind dwarf peeled back the bandage of cobwebs from Hal's face.

 

"Does it hurt, Your Highness?" Muir inquired, feeling the ragged edges of the wound lightly.

 

"It throbs, but it is tolerable," Hal replied.

 

"It's because of the potion that the fairies have been giving you," Beith remarked from the bedside table where he was washing his hands from a basin. "The potion makes you sleep through the pain, but too much of it will also slow down healing."

 

Coll put in, "Starting today, we have asked the fairies to stop giving you the potion. Instead, we shall apply this ointment." He produced a small jar with a black ointment. "It shall hasten the healing of the flesh inside your cheek. Once we see that the muscles and ligaments have knitted together nicely then we can sew your wound shut."

 

"We cannot close the wound yet because there was so much dirt inside," Duir added. "We have to make sure that it is completely clean, or else we risk your developing brain fever or something much worse."

 

"It's alright, good dwarves," Hal reassured them. "I entrust my well-being into your capable hands."

 

Gort stepped forward. "Nion and I are supposed to hold ya down if ye start thrashin' from the pain. But if it hurts so much that ye want to lash out, ye can punch Nion in the face."

 

"What if I deck you, ye wee bugger?" Nion challenged in outraged as he leaped upon the other dwarf.

 

Hal laughed, seeing the two dwarves throttling each other, but stopped instantly as pain lanced through his cheek.

 

"STOP IT, YOU IDIOTS!" Quert shouted, knocking Nion and Gort's heads together. "Look what you did! His Highness is in pain because o' you! Might've even torn a ligament!"

 

"No, no! I'm fine!" Hal quickly said reassuringly,

 

"Harrumph! I'll be the judge of that." Muir stepped down from the stool to allow Beith to examine the Prince next. "No permanent damage, thank God. But you have to keep the muscles from getting stiff from disuse. When you're alone, try making faces, move your jaw around. Don't worry. We'll make sure no one laughs at you if you find yourself doing it in public." When he was done, Beith covered Hal's face with a new cobweb bandage.

 

"Beith," Muir said softly, grimacing, "I'm sure everyone will understand, given the Prince's condition."

 

"Then…does this mean that I can get out of bed?" Hal asked hopefully.

 

"That's what we're here for!" Nion declared, now with a large lump on his forehead. "We shall be your escorts. Show you around the castle. The Queen promised that she will join us once she's done with her work with the Council."

 

"Eric…isn't he going to come with us?"

 

The dwarves exchanged knowing looks with each other. Coll patted the Prince's hand. "The Huntsman is busy on an important errand today. That is why he requested that we accompany you."

 

Hal was barely able to conceal his disappointment. Still, he welcomed the prospect of being able to walk at last, even if it was in the dubious company of the seven dwarves. Besides, he was hoping that he could find…something. An item which was glaringly missing inside his chamber.

 

"What are we waiting for?" the Prince said eagerly, pulling back the covers. "Let's go!"

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dressing up in a white silk shirt, black wool trousers, and soft deer hide boots with the dwarves' assistance, Hal felt like he was somewhat his old self again. True, he was still rather weak, making walking a bit difficult and tiring. But the dwarves had chosen a route wherein the Prince could take a breather or two by sitting on stone benches or low window ledges.

 

Tabor Castle, Hal discovered, was not the fairy tale castle that he imagined it to be. It was just like all the other castles he had seen in England, although Snow White's home was still under repair and renovation. It seems the evil woman who had usurped the throne from the then imprisoned princess had other…interests…and even contributed to the castle's gradual ruin and neglect. Hal had wanted to learn more about Snow White's much despised predecessor, but the dwarves would not say anything, remarking that it was the Queen herself who shall tell him her tale of woe.

 

As they wandered through the various halls and hallways of the castle, Hal was dismayed that he could not find even a single mirror. The suits of armor standing in the corridors were of dull steel, so that he could not see his reflection clearly. The armors also did not bear smooth, shiny shields which would have served as good reflective surfaces.

 

The dwarves must have gleaned his true intention for wanting to explore the castle because they soon invited him to go with them to the gardens. Although he was reluctant at first, as soon as he saw the thick rose bushes laden with beautiful red blossoms, a smile formed on Hal's face and he found himself dashing down the cobbled path. He looked at the roses one by one, his fingers reaching up to gingerly touch the sharp tips of their thorns. He even leaned forward to smell the sweet-scented petals.

 

What caught Hal's eye was the small patch in the corner. At the sight of those familiar green leaves, he let out a cheer of delight, instantly recognizing them to be gardenias. Going to that little patch, he sat down on the soft earth, right in the middle, to marvel at the tiny buds. Touching one bud, to his delight, it opened up to reveal a dainty, creamy white flower.

 

"Eric told me that you love gardenias."

 

Hal turned, beaming, to find Snow White walking toward him. To his surprise, the Queen of Tabor was dressed in a simple, long-sleeved reddish brown blouse with a leather vest on top; her graceful legs were clad in tight dark brown leggings, with ankle high boots on her feet. Never had he seen a woman dressed in male garments before and, yet, it suited her, perhaps much more than a frilly gown.

 

"Yes," he said, patting the space beside him so that the Queen could sit. "When I was living in Ireland with my cousin Richard—my father's predecessor—he let me have a small patch in the Royal Garden for me to plant gardenias. I always loved this flower."

 

"They say that our choice in flowers reflect the character of our hearts. I love roses, so people say that my heart is bold, brave."

 

"While the gardenia is dainty and delicate, so this means that my heart is fragile."

 

"No. I would say that your heart is pure."

 

Hal gave Snow White a wry smile. "But I guess my fondness for gardenias is because of the woman whom I was in the past. Did you know Sara?"

 

"Unfortunately, I have not had the pleasure of meeting her," Snow White answered with a regretful shake of her head. "But she must have been a remarkable woman for Eric to mourn for her all these years."

 

"I'm not Sara. Even she told me that." Noting the questioning look on the Queen's face, Hal clarified, "Since the Battle of Shrewsbury, since I've been wounded, I've been speaking with her in my dreams."

 

"And do you think Eric is only being protective of you because you are his wife reborn?"

 

"He hated me in the beginning, you know. He saw me only as a frivolous, irresponsible rascal who is not fit to sit on the throne. It was a challenge to make him change his low opinions of me. In fact, I was gaining his grudging respect. But now, given the circumstances, I don't think I want him to be kinder toward me just because he thinks me to be Sara when I am most definitely not."

 

Snow White took his hand and squeezed it. "I honestly don't believe that Eric sees you as Sara. While there may be some similarities in your character traits, you are a completely different person." She chuckled. "Not to mention the fact that you are a man. No, My Prince, I think you still have more than enough time to convince him of your present identity, and annoy him while you're doing so."

 

Hal laughed lightly at that last. "Yes, he is rather short-tempered. I find it hard to believe that he was a different man back then. But then again, Sara was a wise and beautiful woman. Not like me. Certainly not as I am now."

 

The young Queen was perceptive enough to know what was troubling the Prince. "Why do you say that, Your Highness?"

 

Hal's answer was another question. "May I please borrow a mirror?" he begged with aching politeness. "I…I want to see… But I can't find a single mirror throughout the castle."

 

"I'm sorry. I had all the mirrors removed for the time being. I didn't think it wise."

 

"Why? Am I truly that hideous now?"

 

"No, you misunderstand. We all have seen you without that bandage while we are attending to you. What I fear most is how you would react when you see your own face and the damage that was done to it."

 

"I have the right to know!"

 

"But you are not ready yet!" Snow White then confessed, "I have seen woman and children who have mutilated their faces in order to preserve their lives. Not a day went by that they did not grieve over the loss of their beauty. Your loss, however, was not by your own choice. Instead, your beauty was taken away from you. I just couldn't let you see the painful truth of your loss, not until your heart was stronger, ready, and more so, that your eyes could look beyond what you shall behold in the mirror."

 

"Is this something that you and Eric have decided upon?"

 

"It's not just the two of us. My husband William, his father Duke Hammond, and even your father King Henry agreed with us."

 

Hal bit down on his lower lip. "Have I no say in this? It is **_my_** face I want to see!"

 

"My Prince, please—"

 

"Why don't you just tell me the truth?" Hal cried in growing despair, tears limning his eyes.  "Have I become so ugly that no one would dare gaze upon my face? Do I now possess the visage of a monster, someone whom my people would fear, much more pity, rather than accord respect?"

 

The Prince did not wait for Snow White's answer. With an anguished cry, he stood up and marched back inside the castle, ignoring the worried looks that the Queen and the seven dwarves—who were listening to their conversation behind the bushes—were throwing his way.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

For the remainder of the day, Hal sulked inside his chamber, lying curled up on the bed with his back to the door. Each of the dwarves came in to either clean his wound—the pain of which he endured between gritted teeth when they scoured his face with linen-wrapped probes and flushed it with white wine, before applying the black ointment which numbed the throbbing in his cheek—or just simply check on him. Although they tried to make pleasant conversation with him, Hal would not speak to them. Once they were done, he would lie down and turn his back to them. Servants also brought trays of food which remained untouched. Probably sensing his dark mood, even the fairies did not make their regular visit.

 

It was at around dinnertime that Eric finally made his appearance, carrying a tray laden with venison stew, soft bread, and wine.

 

As he placed the tray on the bedside table, the Huntsman remarked, "I heard from the dwarves and from Her Majesty that you haven't eaten at all today. You should eat something if you are to heal."

 

"I'm not hungry," Hal said sullenly. "Please take it away."

 

He heard Eric sigh heavily behind him. Before he could protest, the Huntsman turned him over onto his back and lifted him to a sitting position, placing two pillows behind him so that he will be more comfortable. Eric then set the tray on his lap and sat on the bedside, waiting expectantly, his stern form broaching no room for argument.

 

Despite his determination not to eat, Hal's stomach growled its objection, especially at the smell of the stew. In the end, the Prince picked up the spoon and began to eat, chewing slowly, mindful of the pain in his cheek. Eric remained silent until Hal had consumed everything.

 

It was only when he saw that the royal was done that Eric said quietly, "I heard that you and Snow White talked earlier in the garden. She sends her apologies for having upset you."

 

"No, I'm the one who should apologize for being rude to her," Hal mumbled softly, staring into his empty bowl.

 

"My Prince, we don't want you to think that the reason why we're keeping a mirror from you is because you have become disfigured. It's just that your wound is still healing, and it is rather deep and raw. It's only been three days after all. As the dwarves have told you, we cannot sew it up yet until we're absolutely sure that there is no dirt or grit that may cause infection or something much worse." Eric's lips twisted uncomfortably. "I personally don't want you to see. I don't want you to get…disheartened."

 

"Why? Just how bad is it?"

 

"This is exactly the point that I'm struggling to make, Your Highness," Eric exclaimed. "If you see your face in the mirror this early, it might affect you deeply so that it may have a detrimental effect on your healing. I…I also don't want to get your hopes up in the event that…"

 

"I do get disfigured even after my face does heal," Hal continued for him bluntly.

 

"No, it's not that. We are in Tabor after all. A land of fairies and magic. I don't want to give up hope. No, I **_refuse_** to give up hope." In his desire to change the subject, the Huntsman took the pouch that was hanging from his hip. "I'm sorry if I haven't been able to see you for much of today. The dwarves told me that it would be better if you were walking around more, so I made you this. I didn't want your wound to get dirtied."

 

Frowning, Hal accepted the pouch that was offered to him. Opening it, he found himself staring down at a white half mask which was molded perfectly to the shape of the right side of his face. His hands began trembling as he lifted the mask up.

 

"I guess…this answers my question," Hal muttered, his face darkening.

 

"My Prince, please don't misunderstand my intentions—"

 

With a furious cry, Hal threw the mask in the far corner and swept the tray and its contents from his lap, so that they fell with a clatter on the floor. **_"I DEMAND THAT YOU GIVE ME A MIRROR…NOW!"_**

 

"No, Your Highness!" Eric argued. "You may make that demand, but not right now. Later, when your wound has completely healed—"

 

"I am your Prince, Huntsman, and you swore to my father that you would protect me…to obey me!"

 

"I never swore to your father that I would obey your every command, especially if I believe it to be not in your best interests! And this is one of them! His Majesty himself forbade me from giving you a mirror!"

 

**_"THEN DAMN YOU ALL! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO KEEP ME FROM SEEING MY OWN FACE!"_ **

 

Hal angrily swung his legs down the side of the bed, planning to address Snow White directly with his demand. As he lowered his feet, however, he dragged the sheets along, so that as he took a step forward, he stumbled, bracing his arms before his head could hit the floor. His eyes widened, seeing that he had landed right on top of the shiny silver tray. Because of the light of the lamp on the table, he could clearly see his reflection. Before Eric could reach down and stop him, Hal tore the bandage from his face.

 

"No," Hal gasped, shaking his head, when he finally beheld his face. His whole, right cheek was a raw, gaping wound. Within its depths, he could clearly see torn muscle tissue and ligaments. The edges of the wound were ragged. He had seen wounds of this type before and he knew that—even if the wound was to be sewn shut—the rough edges would make it impossible to produce smooth healing. Already, he could imagine the terrible scar that would ruin his once perfect good looks.

 

Eric swiftly went down on the floor as the Prince let out a keening wail. He embraced Hal, pulling his distraught figure against his body and rocking him comfortingly. Pulling a clean handkerchief from out of his pocket, he dabbed at the tears that poured from Hal's right eye.

 

"Please, My Prince, don't cry," Eric whispered hoarsely, weeping as well. "Your tears might get inside your wound. This is the reason why I made that mask for you. Not only did I not wish for your wound to become infected while it is still thus exposed, I wanted to spare you from the sight of it. I knew that this is how you would react."

 

In truth, Hal had realized the practicality of the mask that the Huntsman had given him, feeling the painful sting of the tears in the raw flesh of his face. Now, he wanted more than anything to wear it, not just because he could not stop crying, but more so, he wanted to dispel that hideous visage from his sight. A visage that he knew was now forever etched inside his mind.

 

"I'm ruined, Eric!" Hal sobbed bitterly. "How could I become King with a face that would only warrant pity and disgust?"

 

"If the people don't see what's inside your heart, then they are not worthy to be your subjects," Eric declared firmly. He turned Hal around so that he was directly facing the Prince. "I will never abandon you, Your Highness. This I swear on my life. I will always be at your side."

 

"You're only saying that because you think I'm your wife Sara. I am not her!"

 

"Of course you're not Sara!" the Huntsman blurted out. "My wife was a kind woman. You are an irritating, irresponsible brat who still has yet to prove that he has the true qualities of a prince, much more that of a future king." He then added with mock reluctance, "But you are slowly getting there. I will not see you fail now, certainly not when you have excelled in the battlefield. If you are to be kept on the straight and narrow, you will need someone like me to box your ears from time to time."

 

Hal's breath caught in his throat as Eric leaned forward and kissed him right on top of the exposed cheekbone of his wound.

 

"You will never leave me, Eric?" Hal asked timidly.

 

"No, My Prince. Never."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The next morning, Snow White and William were in the dining hall, eating breakfast with the dwarves and the members of the council. The doors of the hall opened and Prince Hal entered, with the Huntsman escorting him, holding on to his left arm. He was dressed in his favorite garments—a black shirt with his rust-colored leather jacket on top, tight trousers, and black boots. To their surprise, the Prince was wearing the mask that Eric had painstakingly crafted for him in the castle workshop.

 

Smiling shyly, Hal began, "Pardon my intrusion. But if I may be permitted, I would like to join you for breakfast."

 

Snow White stood up, beaming proudly. Waving to the empty seat to her right, she said, "Nothing would please me more, Your Highness."

 

"Hal, My Queen," Hal quickly put in. "While I am under your care, I would be most happy if you would simply call me 'Hal'."


	12. Chapter 11

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright June 26, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 11**

 

"Eric? Have you seen Prince Hal? I thought he might be at the library, but he wasn't there."

 

The Huntsman could not help smiling inwardly at the worried expression on Snow White's face. It has been ten days since the Prince arrived in Tabor and, already, the Queen has been treating him as the brother she never had.

 

In truth, everyone in the castle had good reason to be concerned. Three days back, the dwarves deemed it the time to finally sew up the wound on Hal's face, an operation which the young royal bravely endured. They also patched up the shallow spear wound on the Prince's shoulder, a grievous oversight on the part of Beith which earned him a bop to the back of the head from Muir.

 

Teary-eyed, Beith had wailed, "How was I to remember he had a shoulder wound too? I was concentrated on his face."

 

However, despite the dwarves' insistence that he no longer needed the mask, Hal continued to wear it. Eric wondered if the Prince had overheard the dwarves' discussion on how the healed scar would look. Then again, whether he had eavesdropped on the seven little men or not, Hal was smart enough to draw his own conclusions on what the future state of his face would be.

 

"Don't worry, Snow," the Huntsman reassured the young Queen. "I'm sure he's somewhere in the castle premises. You know he prefers to keep to himself for the time being while he is still coming to terms with his…ailment."

 

"You mean his disfigurement," Snow White said in blunt correction. "I still think he should talk to someone about this, so he wouldn't lose hope."

 

Hearing that last, Eric frowned suspiciously at his former ward. "Wait, did you just say that there is **_real_** hope of fixing his face? Why didn't you tell me?"

 

The Queen paused, her lips pursed in a thoughtful grimace. "To be honest, it is an option that I didn't want to consider. The fairies have been insistently advising me to seek the aid of Oberon. They say that if there is anyone who can heal Hal, it would be him."

 

"Oberon? The King of the Fairies? If he can help, then why don't we go to him and make an appeal for his aid?"

 

"Because Oberon is fickle, covetous, and unpredictable. He and his Queen Titania are notorious for abducting mortals who strike their fancy and bringing them to their realm. In fact, at present, Titania is enamored of a little boy whom she had stolen from his parents who were traveling stage players. Oberon reportedly wanted the boy for himself, and is still seething at the loss. I dread what might happen if Prince Hal catches his interest. Even with his facial wound, he is quite a comely young man."

 

Eric straightened up, so that the head of his axe was all too visible at his back. "Well, he'd have to go through me before he could lay even a finger on His Highness."

 

"That's not what I'm worried about. What if Hal himself hears about Oberon and decides to make his appeal personally? No one knows what a man can do when he's desperate, what he would be willing to sacrifice."

 

"No!" The Huntsman shook his head in vehement denial. "Hal wouldn't!"

 

"But we're not sure of that, are we?" Snow White insisted. "Although I have sworn the fairies in the castle to silence, word has already spread about the Prince." In hushed tones, she added, "I've heard that Oberon has even sent Herne forth in the hope that the Great Hunter would be able to make contact with Hal and deliver the Faerie King's message to him."

 

Eric knew immediately what she was driving at. "Prince Hal is a restless soul. We can't confine him to the castle. Very soon, he would want to go out of these walls and explore."

 

"Not without an escort. And most certainly not without you," Snow White concurred. "William is in the process of arranging a Hunt for next week to entertain the Prince. It seems my husband has heard about Hal's prowess in archery and wants to test him. I will strongly forbid him from taking Hal to Sanctuary. Perhaps I should order that the guards be doubled."

 

"No, Hal is sharp. He'll know that we're hiding something from him. I'll discuss the matter with William later, see what measures we would need to take. In the meantime, I'll look for His Highness."

 

"Please do." Snow White smiled mysteriously. "We have guests arriving at the castle, people whom I want Prince Hal to meet."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Although he strongly desired some privacy, Hal knew that the residents, soldiers, and servants of the castle would start searching for him once he was out of sight. Rather than find a nice, secluded corner for himself, he decided to sit cross-legged at the top of a narrow side stairs overlooking the bustling courtyard with a book of epic poetry on his lap. As he had guessed, since he was in plain view of all, guards and servants alike continued about their work, although he did catch brief glimpses of heads turning his way from time to time.

 

Hal bent down to his reading, but Beowulf's battles against Grendel and his mother would not register inside his head. Unconsciously, his right hand went up to scratch his true concern, only to have the mask he was wearing prevent him from alleviating the itchiness of his healing scar. Again, he felt tears well up in his eyes and his fingers tightened on the leather bound book. Worried as he was for his father and his brothers and the rebellion that had gripped the country, he was deathly afraid of returning to England. He did not want to become a laughing stock at his usual haunts. Falstaff, specifically, was sure to mock his deformity.

 

Lost as he was in his troubled thoughts, Hal did not sense the cautious approach of a small figure, going up the stairs on soft footsteps to where he was seated.

 

"Good day, My Lord," a timid voice greeted him. "Might you perhaps be Prince Hal, Queen Snow White's guest from the mortal realm?"

 

Hal lifted his head to find a little girl standing before him. She would have been very pretty, with her shining blue eyes and long corn-colored hair tied in two pigtails, if it were not for the hideous scars—obviously very deep scratches—on both her cheeks.

 

Hal gave the child his most charming smile. "Please, My Lady. Hal would suffice. And may I have the pleasure of your name?"

 

"I'm Lily," the girl replied, blushing.

 

"Delighted to meet you, Lily," he said graciously, bestowing a cavalier kiss upon her fingertips, eliciting giggles from her lips. "If I may guess, you come from the village beyond the Dark Forest, am I correct? Surely, you didn't travel all the way here on your own. Do you have companions?"

 

Lily nodded. "My mother brought me, together with some of the women and the children of our village." She turned to the courtyard where stood women in hooded dresses and smiling boys and girls between the ages of five and ten. Like Lily, they were all scarred.

 

Taking the child's hand, Hal swiftly stood up and descended the steps to meet them. Bowing to the small group, he greeted, "Welcome to Tabor! My name is Henry of Monmouth, eldest son of King Henry IV of England, but I would be most pleased if you would just call me 'Hal.' Like you, I am a visitor to this castle."

 

A woman with dark brown hair stepped forward. By her straight-backed carriage, she was clearly their leader. "I am Anna. Snow White has told me so much about you." Noting Hal's curious look, she explained, "Snow and I are always communicating through the Magic Mirror. I can see why she—and more so, the Huntsman—care deeply for you."

 

"It is very kind of you to think well of me…" Hal could not help mournfully touching his mask. "…My worth has been somewhat diminished."

 

"My people and I do not measure a person's worth by his physical appearance. This is an important lesson that we've learned when we did this…" Anna gestured to her scars. "…To keep ourselves alive and free from the tyranny of Snow White's predecessor. We have learned to look beyond outward beauty and see what lies within, and you, Your Highness, have a good heart."

 

Hal smiled wryly. "I take it Her Majesty requested that you come here in order to…advise me, perhaps teach me to accept what has happened to my face  in order for my spirits to be lifted up."

 

"I doubt if we shall be able to teach you such an acceptance when we ourselves could not accept what we did to our own faces. But advise you we can on how to deal with those who look strangely upon you and those who would jeer. As for the uplifting of spirits…" Anna embraced her daughter Lily who had ran into her arms. "It is the children who need **_you_** to lift up **_their_** spirits. Eric tells me that you have quite a talent for storytelling."

 

"A talent I unfortunately developed so that I could escape possible punishment from my father whenever I did something naughty." Hal bent down toward the children, giving them a mischievous wink which made them laugh.

 

"ANNA!" Snow White suddenly called out from the balcony overhead. "How long have you been waiting?"

 

"We just arrived actually," Anna answered. "Prince Hal here was kind enough to greet us and keep us company."

 

"I'll have a servant escort you to the dining hall, so that you can get some refreshments after your travel." As a servant emerged from a side door, the Queen turned to the Prince. "Hal, Eric has been searching for you. I'll inform him that you're in the courtyard."

 

"Yes, please do that," Hal muttered in resentment.

 

Anna gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "We shall see you later, Hal."

 

He nodded in acknowledgement, smiling wearily. The Prince watched as the small party went excitedly inside the castle. Hal was about to make a quick departure as well before the Huntsman could come to collect him. But then, his blue eyes fell upon the tiny figure cowering behind some barrels near the gatehouse.

 

The little girl was a ragged, pitiful thing. She was very skinny, her dress like a sack cloth draped over her frame. The child was completely covered in mud of varying degrees of dryness. Her blonde hair—now darkened with mud and matted—totally concealed her face. The Prince's heart was tugged at the sight of her.

 

"Hello there, little one," Hal softly said in greeting as he slowly went toward her. The child took a step backward, but he lifted his hand, halting her. "No, please don't go. I won't hurt you. Are you with Anna and the others?" When the girl shied away from him once more, he remarked, "I guess not."

 

Before the child could run off, Hal went down on one knee and held her too thin arms gently. "What happened to you? Did you fall in quagmire or something?" Feeling her stiffen, he knew he had guessed correctly. It was a miracle that this girl escaped relatively unscathed. "Poor child! Here, let me clean you up a bit."

 

Hal pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. Laying his fingers on her tangled hair, he said, "Don't be afraid, alright? Let me take care of you."

 

But as he parted the girl's hair, the Prince almost jerked back in shock when he beheld her face.

 

It was a face that was certainly not human—more elf-like, round, with a small flat nose, and blue black lips. Her skin was very, very pale, almost white, and not from lack of sun. One could even say that its hue was cadaverous, as though she had just crawled out of a muddy grave. Her eyes, however, were her most striking features. They were pitch black and very round, like the eyes of a raven, piercing, almost terrifying in their sharp gaze. For a moment, Hal was afraid to touch her again.

 

But then, a guard passed by, his polished shield glinting in the afternoon sun. Hal saw his reflection in that shield, the stark mask that covered the right side of his face, and he felt a deep shame for the revulsion he had felt. The Prince let the mask drop from his cheek, so that it dangled from its cord around his neck. The sight of his disfigured face produced the reaction he desired—the child's sharp eyes softened a bit to reveal frank worry and curiosity.

 

Seizing his chance, Hal proceeded to wipe the girl's face clean while she stared at him, her bony fingers reaching up to gingerly trace his hideous scar.

 

"I told you there's no need to be afraid of me," the Prince said conversationally. "We're somewhat alike, you and I."

 

To his even greater surprise, a teardrop formed at the corner of her eye which Hal brushed away with his thumb. "I should be the one weeping over you, dear. You've had a difficult life, haven't you, because of how you look."

 

The little girl gave him the slightest of nods.

 

"Well, things are going to change now. I want you to be my friend." Hal reluctantly revealed, "I am terribly frightened of how my people would react toward me when they behold my face. Perhaps, I could learn from your experiences. Maybe…you can teach me how to be strong and brave…like you."

 

The child just stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. Then, her lips lifted, trembling, at the corners, putting facial muscles long unused to work. Despite her pronounced deformities, that sweet smile made her look so beautiful in the Prince's eyes.

 

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Hal."

 

"A…Adeline."

 

Hal snatched a juicy red apple from a fruit basket nearby and gave it to her. "'Tis a great pleasure to meet you, Adeline." Beaming with excitement, he began invitingly, "I'll tell you what! I shall be telling stories to the village children tonight. It would make me very happy if you could join us."

 

Adeline's face sank in sorrow and despair. She began shaking her head frantically, clutching the apple to her chest.

 

"Please, Adeline? It would mean so much to me if you could come. I want you to be my special guest."

 

Despite her reluctance, the child inquired, "Will you…the tale…the Princess…in the tower?"

 

"With her beautiful, long golden hair that reached to the ground? If that is what you like, I will tell that story and any more that you love."

 

**_"MY LORD, THERE YOU ARE!"_ **

 

Hal rolled his eyes. That booming voice could only belong to his very persistent guard, the Huntsman.

 

Sure enough, Eric was striding over to him, like a hound who has found his prey, his ruggedly handsome face reflecting his displeasure. "Do you know that I've been looking all over for you?"

 

"Then you obviously have not been searching hard enough because I've been here in the courtyard for quite awhile," Hal said in counter, barely hiding his annoyance. Remembering his new friend, he whirled around, only to be dismayed when he saw that Adeline had already run away. "Look what you did, you muscle-brained conger! You frightened her!"

 

Eric frowned. "I saw you kneeling on the ground, moving your hands over the stones, but I didn't see anyone else."

 

"Hmph! Your eyesight must be failing. First, you can't find me. Now, you can't see the little girl whom I was speaking with."

 

"My eyes are just fine, thank you very much!" Eric retorted with a snort. He was going to say more, but he noticed something. "Your Highness, your mask…"

 

Hal swiftly donned the mask, his fumbling hands betraying his anger. "There. Is this satisfactory for you, Eric?"

 

"I did not mean to offend…"

 

"Yes, I know you didn't." The Prince made to walk past the other man before he could see the hurt on his face. "Come, Huntsman. I have children to entertain."

 

Eric, however, reached out and grabbed his arm. "I am truly sorry, My Lord."

 

Hal shrugged Eric's arm off. "It's alright, Eric. I…I understand."

 

The Prince hurried inside the castle then, with the distraught Huntsman following right at his heels.

 

Neither man saw the small, muddy handprint that slowly materialized on the gray stone surface of the gate's vertical support.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now officially brain dead. Hope I could muster my brain cells to remain awake so I can watch "Henry V" on HBO this morning. @_@

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright July 4, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 12**

 

_She watches. Because she wants to know why. Why always the other children. Never her._

_Like right now._

_From what she had heard from the village children's excited discussions with their parents two days ago, they were only going to have a small gathering in Tabor, to celebrate their reunion with their beloved queen Snow White and to meet the young mortal prince who was her guest at the castle._

_What should have been a simple, private affair among friends has become a big feast, with the children in Tabor now invited to join them, so that the dining hall was ringing with high-pitched, happy voices. She watched, hungrily, as all sorts of delicious, colorful fare was served on the tables—plump quails and juicy sausages, fluffy bread buns, and various sweetmeats. All she had was the apple that the kind Prince had given her, but which she did not want to eat for it was the first and only present that anyone has ever given her._

_She was watching the Prince now, observed his initial reluctance to join the celebration after everyone had fallen silent at his entrance upon beholding that white mask covering the right side of his face. Even with the Huntsman's subtle urging, he would not move from the doorway._

_Unable to resist, she whispered to him,_ "Have courage, My Prince." _At the same time that she uttered those encouraging words, the village leader's daughter Lily ran toward him and took his hand, pulling him along. Most would say that it was Lily who prompted the Prince to join the gathering. But she had seen him turn his head in her direction, his blue eyes searching for her, a happy smile on his lips._

He heard me! _she thought in elation._ He heeded my words!

 

_Her joy, however, was brief, as the Prince expectedly endeared himself to everyone in the hall with his quick wit and generous smiles. She watched in envy as the children vied for his attention, but it was Lily whom he spent the most time with._

_She wanted to shred Lily's scarred face completely and tear her corn-silk hair from her head._

_Soon enough, the tables were cleared for the storytelling. As eager was she was to see if the Prince would keep his promise, she dreaded the other tales that might be told._

_In her hammering heart, she was certain that one of those stories to be narrated would be hers. A loathsome distortion of the truth. Most of it, lies!_

_And so she watches…and listens…and waits._

_For the lies to be told._

_If it should come to pass, then she would act and rip the lying tongues out of those who would spread that revolting falsehood._

_And she would even immensely enjoy doing the deed too._

 

 

 

Because of Sara's untimely death, Eric was never able to fulfill his dream of having children, a family to call his own. Never had he felt that loss more acutely than at this moment, surrounded by the laughter of little boys and girls. Their innocence possessed a certain kind of magic, a charm that no adult could resist. Had he not just witnessed a smiling Lily lead a shy and hesitant Prince Hal into the heart of their gathering and made him forget, even for one night, the injury that had been inflicted upon his face?

 

Eric gazed at Hal wistfully—how the Prince smiled at each and every child, who offered him cakes and pastries. If it were possible, he wanted nothing more than to see that smile forever etched on Hal's lips, to not see him suffer anymore in this life as his wife had in the past. Maybe he could prolong that smile with a good story.

 

As he pondered what tale to tell, Eric did not notice at first that Beith had taken the place of the minstrel on the bench in the center of the hall, the children eagerly gathering around him.

 

Beith waved his hands in the air. "Pipe down everyone! The storytelling is about to begin!"

 

"What tale are you going to start us off with this eve, good dwarf?" Snow White inquired, a prompting tone in her voice.

 

"An excellent one, Your Majesty!" Beith declared. "Let me tell you about the day the Huntsman got the clap!"

 

Eric spat out the ale he had been drinking in shock, drenching Nion who was seated beside him. Before the dwarf could sputter in outrage, the Huntsman bellowed at Beith, "Ye wee lyin' bugger! Open that foul mouth o' yours an' you'll find yourself without a head!"

 

Hal was doubled over, roaring with laughter. "Oh, don't listen to him, Beith! I want to hear this story!"

 

 ** _"MY LORD!"_** Eric gaped at the Prince, deeply offended that Hal would take the dwarf's side.

 

William's lips were tightly pursed as he tried to keep from laughing. "Is this…hahaha…urm…story…even appropriate for children?"

 

"Ahem," Snow White cleared her throat, struggling to maintain her decorum, although her giggles were threatening to bubble out. "Maybe we should…pass…on this story."

 

Lily raised her hand. "But I want to know about how the Huntsman got clapped!"

 

"Lily, dear," her mother Anna began sagely, "believe me you don't want to know."

 

Eric stood up then, his face dark and sour, jerking his trousers up in righteous indignation. "I'll have ye know. I never had the clap in my entire life!" He glowered down at Hal, who had pressed his face over his left arm on the table, wheezing in mirth, while pounding his right fist on top. "And you, stop that! You may be the Crown Prince, but I'll still deck ye!"

 

Hal raised his head, blue eyes glaring. "You wouldn't dare!"

 

"Now, hold on!" Beith exclaimed. "Just what kind o' clap are you people talkin' about? Really! I'm disappointed in you! Filthy minds, the whole lot o' ye!"

 

Hal pointed to Eric and said helpfully, "Actually, 'twas the Huntsman here who reacted first," which earned him a piercing glare.

 

Beith cleared his throat. "My dear Huntsman, I was going to tell everyone about that time you were victorious in an axe throwing tournament." He turned to his now avid audience. "His opponent that day was a tough one who never failed to hit the target in the many years of the tournament. He was the champion. We feared that the Huntsman was going to lose. After all, we did bet our gold on him, a bit unreliable though he may be."

 

"I beg your pardon! Who are ye callin' unreliable?"

 

"Anyway, in the final round, everyone was holding their breaths as the Huntsman came forward with axe in hand. For awhile, he tested the weapon's weight in his hand, moving his fingers along the handle."

 

"And he took his bloody time doin' it too!" Gort interrupted with a cackle which earned him a 'shush' from the listeners in the hall.

 

Beith continued, "Then, the Huntsman took aim, his blue eyes crossin' so hard that you'd think it would they'd get stuck like that permanently. When he threw his mighty axe, it spun in the air. Then, it cleaved his rival's weapon in twain."

 

There arose collective "Awws" and "Oohs" among the children.

 

"Aye, I do remember it that way," Eric said in faux humility, although he was beaming with approval that, for once, the evil little man had told the truth.

 

"True, true! You should've seen your face when everyone started clapping." Beith whirled to all in the hall. "How about we clap to the Huntsman and his prowess with the axe?"

 

The dwarves—except for Muir, who believed himself too old to be an active participant in his fellows' antics—solemnly stood up as one. They scrunched up their shoulders, their arms tucked tightly against their bodies, wide grins stretching their lips. Instead of clapping properly, they tapped the tips of their index fingers together in an unmistakably lewd gesture. Not knowing what that 'clap' meant, the children wholeheartedly and with great cheer followed the dwarves' example. At first, the adults at the table were reluctant to join in, that is, until Hal—who was a staunch patron of the brothels and knew full well what that gesture meant—stood up and did the same thing, cheering **_"Bravo!"_**

 

Snow White could only mouth a quick "Forgive me" to the Huntsman before doing the same herself, together with a very amused William.

 

Beith was very, very pleased with himself at being successfully able in putting Eric to shame. But then, a dark, ominous shadow fell upon him. It took only a matter of minutes before Beith and his five mischievous companions were all seated in a corner of the hall, trussed up with a rope like chickens to the slaughter.

 

With a nasty scowl darkening his face, Eric plopped down on the bench with his axe on his lap. "I'll tell ye all a story about those fool dwarves o'er there," he began, his brogue pronounced because of his irritation. The Huntsman also threw a sharp look at Hal who was about to interrupt. "An' another one about a certain Prince, if he should say somethin' while I'm tellin' my tale."

 

"Oh, don't you worry, Huntsman," Hal immediately reassured. "You will not hear a peep out of me."

 

Because he was so infuriated, Eric ended up telling a rather muddled tale about how he had captured the dwarves for thievery, the merry chase that had ensued which concluded with the braining of the little men with the head of his axe, and his collecting a substantial bounty as a result of the arrest. When he was done, the children were staring at him blankly, some of them nodding off. It was poor Snow White who ended up giving the Huntsman a consolatory clap, prompting the others in the hall to follow suit, with her husband William yawning with his mouth wide.

 

Hal could not stop himself from shaking his head in disappointment. Giving Eric a not-so-subtle nudge to get off the bench, he said, "I'll take over from here, Huntsman. Let me show you how it's done."

 

Resentful as he was at being so displaced from the storyteller's seat, Eric soon felt his displeasure dwindling the moment the Prince began to speak.

 

It was an understatement to say that Prince Hal was a natural storyteller, having witness for himself the numerous occasions that the young royal had told bawdy tales at The Boar's Head. However, with the children, Hal's true gift was revealed.

 

Hal started with the hilarious tale of Falstaff and his men's pitiful excuse of a robbery. The Prince's gift with voices was amazing, to say the least. He was able to capture Falstaff's sleazy voice and mannerisms exactly, even going so far as to tuck a pillow under his shirt to show to all just how corpulent the rogue was. Everyone laughed when he slipped and fell on the floor, mimicking exactly how Falstaff had fallen when Hal and Poins had chased him away. Even more impressive was how he portrayed the many personages at The Boar's Head when he had exposed Falstaff's lies. The children's laughter rang out with the way Hal aped Bardolph's somewhat high-pitched blubbering voice.

 

After this impressive narration, no one dared to take the storyteller's seat from Hal. Except for brief breaks to take sips of ale, Hal tirelessly told one tale after another, never losing his stride or his exuberance at making voices. In some stories, he would ask the children to stand up and participate as minor characters. Still, it was when Hal was performing all the roles himself where he literally shone. While telling the tale of Rapunzel, Eric watched mesmerized as the Prince threw his heart into the role of the princess in the tower. At one point, Hal had even knelt at the Huntsman's feet as though he were the prince in the story, begging him to take him away from his cruel mother who had imprisoned him. Because his face was so close to his, for a moment, Eric thought Hal was going to kiss him, only to move back and assume another role, which left the Huntsman feeling very disappointed.

 

However, Eric noticed something while Hal was narrating Rapunzel's story. His blue gray eyes kept on sweeping across the hall, as if he were searching for something…or someone. There was no mistaking the sadness and disappointment on Hal's face whenever he did not find whom he was searching for. Eric remembered Hal's telling him about another child, a little girl. He wondered if he should look for this girl himself, just to make the Prince happy.

 

When Hal was done, everyone in the hall clapped and cheered. Lily stood up and jumped on the Prince's lap, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. "Tell us more, Your Highness! Please tell us more!" she and the other children declared eagerly.

 

"I'll tell you one more story, but please let me rest for a bit, alright?" Hal said, breathless.

 

Anna got to her feet. "While Prince Hal is resting, I shall tell a tale."

 

The children let out collective groans. Lily cried, "Oh, Mum! Please not that one. It will give us nightmares."

 

"Why? Is it a ghost story?" Hal asked. "I actually love ghost stories!"

 

There were more groans at the Prince's exclamation. But seeing how curious Hal was, they allowed Anna to take the bench, with the Prince sitting beside her and hugging her daughter.

 

"My tale is about the Demon Child of the Bog," Anna began her tale. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, God-fearing noblewoman who wanted to have a child. Unfortunately, despite her and her husband's efforts, they remained childless. When a healer informed her that she was barren, her husband left her for another, leaving the poor lady alone and in despair. Wanting her husband back, she made a pact with the Devil himself. If he would give her a child, her soul would be his. Certainly not one to refuse an offer of a virtuous soul to torment in Hell for all eternity, the Devil answered her prayer and gave her a lovely daughter.

 

"However, beautiful as the child was, her soul was as black as the pits of Hell that spawned her. Playtime for her would be to torment the children of the village, hurting them with fists, sticks, stones, and insulting words. No adult would dare try to stop her. Those who have found themselves with deep scratches on their arms and faces or their homes thrown with rocks or their animals and pets butchered mercilessly. And then, the children started disappearing. One little boy claimed that he saw long, golden hair flailing wildly outside their window prior to his elder sister's disappearance. The villagers suspected that it was the noblewoman's daughter, but without any proof, they could not accuse her of the unexplained disappearances. It was the child's mother, however, who discovered the truth."

 

As Eric listened to Anna's story, he felt the hairs on his arms suddenly stand on end. He actually knew the story of the Demon Child, but never had it elicited such a strong reaction from him as this. Instinctively, his right hand curled around the handle of his axe.

 

Anna continued, "One stormy night, the noblewoman heard a baby crying. As soon as she stepped out of her chamber, she found her daughter in the hallway, her pretty dress drenched from the rain, carrying in her arms a babe crying its wee eyes out. The glint of the dagger that she held in her right hand was unmistakable. With a lunge, the lady seized the baby from her and locked the poor thing inside her room.  When she turned to her daughter once more, the girl slashed her arm. Anger and revulsion gripped the noblewoman's heart then. She grabbed the dagger, ignoring the deep cut it made in her palm. Finding herself unarmed, her daughter fled from her presence, running down staircases, through the foyer, and out the front door. But her mother pursued her relentlessly, even into the forest. In her terror, the girl never noticed that she had entered the bogs. Before she realized what was happening, she fell into a muddy hole, sinking fast.

 

"Seeing her mother, she cried out to her, 'Help me, Mother! Please! Forgive me! Save me and I swear I shall do no ill ever again!'

 

"But her mother's heart has hardened.  'You are no child of mine! Die, you wicked thing!' she cried. 'Go back to Hell where you belong!'"

 

 _"Lies…"_ Eric's head shot up at that soft, angry whisper. If he had only looked down, he would have seen long, muddy hair slithering across the floor.

 

"The child stared back at her mother, realizing that the noblewoman was going to watch her drown. Her once beautiful features twisted, assuming its true malevolent form. As she sank into the bog, she said, 'I hate you…'"

 

**_"LIARS! I HATE YOU ALL!"_ **

 

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew, snuffing out the candles and the torches. Then, chaos descended upon them. As Eric gaped in horror, screaming children were lifted up high by what seemed like flailing tentacles. It was only when he peered closer that he realized that those arms were, in truth, very long locks of dirty blonde hair…originating from a girl with piercing eyes and wearing a muddied dress, standing in the middle of the hall.

 

An arrow zipped through the air, cutting through the thick lock that held one boy, so that he tumbled to the floor and skittered away to safety. Whirling, the Huntsman saw William standing on top of the table, about to let loose another arrow. Roaring, Eric moved as well, swinging his axe at those wild locks, chopping at them before they could grab the other children. Somehow, the dwarves have managed to untie their bonds and also joined in the fray, grabbing the boys and girls that the Huntsman and William had freed. Even Snow White had dashed forward with sword in hand, slashing away.

 

Hal's confused voice echoed above the panicked screams. **_"ADELINE! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"_**

 

Hearing the Hal, the girl—Adeline—fixed jealous, furious eyes upon Lily who was held protectively in his arms. She let a long lock of her hair whip out, coiling around Lily's ankle. The little girl screamed as she was wrenched out of the Prince's embrace and dragged across the floor. Hal had the presence of mind to dive down and grab her wrists, but despite his added weight, Adeline pulled them both toward her effortlessly.

 

 ** _"MY LORD!"_** Eric shouted as he hurried forth, bringing his axe down upon her hair, chopping it and thus setting Lily free.

 

At that moment, the doors of the dining hall opened. Gripped by terror and panic, adults and children alike made a quick dash for freedom, leaving behind the Huntsman, Hal, Snow White, William and the dwarves, all with startled expressions on their faces.

 

"Where's the Demon Child?" Gort demanded.

 

It was Hal who moved first, running out the door after the panicked crowd. Eric quickly went after him, with the others following at his heels.

 

Emerging into the courtyard, Eric saw Hal at the foot of the stairs, searching desperately through the people and children who were running to and fro, completely unaware that the Demon Child had concealed herself among them.

 

 ** _"LILY!"_** Anna screamed for her daughter.

 

 ** _"MAMA!"_** Lily answered her from somewhere near the stables. That answering cry from Lily was all that Adeline needed to determine her location.

 

Hal saw Adeline then, a pale gray shape beside the fruit baskets, her hair uncoiling. **_"ADELINE! NO!"_**

 

 ** _"LILY, LOOK OUT!"_** Eric bellowed at the top of his voice.

 

Before Lily could get away, the Demon Child's hair wrapped around her waist tightly. Having acquired her prey, Adeline conjured up a brisk wind that carried her and Lily up into the air and over the castle gate.

 

 ** _"OPEN THE GATE!"_** Snow White commanded. **_"SEND OUT THE TROOPS NOW!"_**

****

It was Hal who proved to be faster than any of them.

 

 ** _"YOUR HIGHNESS, NO!"_** Eric cried, leaping down from the stairs and running after the Prince who was headed toward a soldier who was pulling along his bay stallion by its reins in order to be saddled.

 

Hal, however, ignored the Huntsman. Before anyone could stop him, the Prince leapfrogged onto the stallion's back and kicked the steed into a full gallop right through the gate as it was being raised. Eric could only watch in frustrated helplessness as Hal raced across the beach in the direction of the Dark Forest in pursuit of the two children.


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are any errors. I was actually supposed to post this yesterday but I had an important errand to run in my home province. Don't have time to make corrections because I need to prepare for an interview tomorrow.

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright July 16, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 13**

 

An avid huntsman himself, though not of the level of experience and expertise as Eric, Prince Hal has visited a number of forests in England and Ireland in the pursuit of exotic game. While there have been a few woods which proved to be challenging for him, they were incomparable to Tabor's infamous Dark Forest.

 

Hal has heard the bards and poets use the term "reeks of evil" to describe something that was strongly offensive. He doubted if they ever truly understood what it meant as he now did. For never had he been in such a vile place like the Dark Forest, wherein its very atmosphere prickled with black magic and evil, and the overpowering intent to harm, injure, perhaps even kill.

 

But he dared not go back to the castle. All he had on his mind were the two children who were in the middle of this dreadful morass. While he was concerned about Lily's safety and well-being, he was more worried about Adeline.

 

Everyone called her the "Demon Child of the Bogs", but Hal could not think of her as such. Despite the power she displayed, how she had used her long hair like grasping tentacles, he was not, could not be afraid of Adeline. More than anything, he wanted to get to know her, to know the truth behind the stories which the poor child screamed with utter vehemence to be nothing but lies.

 

Adeline was his precious friend and Hal would not abandon her despite what the others say.

 

Suddenly, the Prince's horse stumbled and he was thrown off its back. Before he could gather his wits, his mount had galloped and whinnied off in sheer terror.

 

Hal sat up, taking stock of any injuries that he may have sustained from the fall. As he did so, however, he found himself staring at a bunch of dark gray mushrooms with round little eyes blinking back at him. Gort had told him about these mushrooms and what they could do, and he made to turn away. But it was too late. The mushrooms puffed their sickly yellow spores right in his face.

 

Leaping to his feet, Hal's back hit something hard. He knew it was a tree, but when he whirled around, what he saw was a dark hooded figure. With a cry, he wrenched away, only to find himself surrounded by more sinister shadows, their thin skeletal hands reaching out to grab him. In the hissing susurrations of the rank breeze, he could hear loathsome, lust-filled voices.

 

_"A pretty morsel, isn't he?"_

_"You shall share him with us."_

_"Surrender, sweet Prince."_

_"Let us feast upon your tender flesh."_

 

Hal pushed the grasping branches back with a scream of **_"NO! NEVER!"_** , only to fall backward into a thicket, trapping him in its thorns and branches. Because he was still experiencing the hallucinatory effects of those spores, what loomed before his eyes was that familiar grinning face of the white-haired man.

 

 ** _"DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T YOU DARE!"_** Hal cried, as his shirt was torn, not by lustful hands, but by sharp branches. However, with his mind trapped by the spores' spell, the Prince could no longer discern the difference. As tears streamed from his eyes, Hal screamed for the one man who could save him. **_"ERIC! HELP ME!"_**

 

"Have courage, My Prince." Adeline's voice suddenly pierced through the dark haze of his mind. That brief moment of clarity made Hal realize that he was not in the dire predicament he thought himself to be.

 

Hal got to his feet with great care to avoid getting further scratched. As soon as he was upright, he heard Lily screaming not too far from him. He broke into a run, heading in the direction of those screams, not noticing that the ground was growing increasingly soggy beneath his feet.

 

Then, Hal burst into what looked like a small clearing…until his right foot sank into the mud. Swiftly, he threw his body backward, so that he fell on his behind, thus freeing his foot. His blue eyes grew round at the sight of Lily in the center of the quicksand, slowly sinking. But her descent was not due to the pool of mud. In the sickly light of the moon, he could see Adeline clinging to her with arms and hair, pulling Lily straight down with her.

 

 ** _"HAL, HELP!"_** Lily screamed.

 

The Prince picked up a long, thick branch and held it out to her. "Grab it, Lily! I'll pull you both out!"

 

"I can't! She's too strong!"

 

"Adeline, let Lily go! I want the two of you to grab the branch!"

 

 ** _"NO!"_** Adeline yelled back. **_"I'M KEEPING HER! SO THAT SHE'LL BECOME A DEMON CHILD, HATED, LIKE ME!"_**

 

**_"YOU ARE NO DEMON TO ME!"_ **

**"LIAR! You will do anything to save her life! _YOU NEVER CARED ABOUT ME!_ "**

Hal's jaw hardened. Lowering the branch, he tore off his mask and let it fall to the ground. "Shall I prove it to you then?"

 

Adeline watched in alarm as the Prince took a step toward the quicksand. "What are you doing? **_NO! YOU MUST NOT!_** "

 

Her frantic cry came too late as Hal leaped into the quicksand. Taking Lily out of Adeline's hands, he tossed her onto the bank. With Lily safe, he then embraced Adeline tightly, refusing to let go even when she pushed at him, begged him to save himself. The last thing that Hal heard was Lily crying and screaming out his name as the mud covered his head.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hal thought that drowning in quicksand would be similar to water, albeit more painful because both water and earth would be filling his lungs. But no such thing happened.

 

Cautiously, he opened his eyes to find himself inside a shimmering green bubble, which held back the mud that was still threatening to engulf him. Swimming in the murky depths before him was Adeline, her hair moving waves around her small head.

 

"Show me, Adeline," Hal urged her. "Please show me your truth."

 

The child looked at him, trying to gauge the honesty in his interest. "It is not a pretty story, My Prince. There is no happy ending in this."

 

"I already know that. But I still want to know."

 

Adeline nodded then and closed her eyes, dispelling the mud around them and bringing the Prince into the memories of her tragic past.

 

 

_There once was a Queen with fine gold hair. As beautiful as she was, her heart was rotten to the core because she was a witch. Desiring youth and immortality, she would rob the young women and girls in the kingdom of their beauty and their life force, leaving them withered crones. She coveted everything but gave back nothing—except for hatred, destruction, death and despair. She craved for love, but evil thing that she was, no one loved her back._

_All, except her white-haired brother._

_In a moment of shared desire and loneliness, the siblings were joined as one. The Queen thought that she could prevent any product of their forbidden consummation from developing through her great magic. But Fate decided to give her that which she did not want, and by the third month, she knew that she was with child._

_The birth of the Queen's baby girl was kept a complete secret from all in the realm, and it was not to conceal the shameful circumstances of her conception. No, it was because of her strange changeling appearance, which mirrored how her mother should truly look if it were not for the fact that her magic had hidden the gradual corruption of her soul. The Queen detested her child on sight, and she had murdered the midwife with her bare hands lest her secret be betrayed._

_Like the Princess she has imprisoned in the tower, the Queen kept her child locked up in a wing of the castle, with only a few servants and her uncle—in truth, her father—seeing to her needs. Surprisingly, however, although her face showed her inhuman origins, her heart was pure. Her little songs brought birds to her window, so that she would feed them scraps of bread. The servants, whose tongues have been cut out to prevent them from revealing the secret, adored the kind child and they would always bring her small presents of candy or an extra cookie or slice of cake._

_But there was one thing that the child craved more than anything, and that was freedom._

_One afternoon, the child found her chance when her uncle forgot to lock the door to the suite. Excited, she fled from her chambers, finding her way to the rose garden which has long been left neglected. As soon as she stepped into the garden, sensing the beauty of her soul and the latent magic she possessed, the rose bushes blossomed with beautiful, fragrant flowers._

_Through her Magic Mirror, the Queen discovered what had happened. She was even more appalled to learn that her child possessed the gift for magic. Rushing out of her private chamber, she headed straight to the rose garden where her daughter was playing._

_At first, the little girl was terrified of her mother, begging her again and again to forgive her for leaving her rooms. Instead, the Queen gave her the sweetest smile—a rarity—and then told her of a more beautiful place that she would enjoy. It was a secret place that only her mother knew, and now she was going to share it with her._

_Excited and trusting wholeheartedly, the child went with her mother. The Queen even made her sit in front of her on her magnificent steed as they rode into the woods._

_They soon reached a clearing covered in thick green moss surrounded by trees. The girl jumped down from the horse, asking the Queen eagerly, "Is this the place, Mother? Is this it?"_

_"No," the Queen said, the smile fading from her face, and she shoved her daughter hard, so that she teetered backward, arms flailing in the air, and fell into the quicksand hidden beneath the moss._

**_"MOTHER! PLEASE HELP ME!"_ ** _the child cried, raising her hands to her. **"I'M SINKING! HELP ME PLEASE!"**_

_But the Queen did no such thing. Instead, she picked up a stout branch and used it to push her daughter even deeper into the mud. The child struggled to free herself, to break through the surface somehow. Her frantic movements, however, only hastened her descent._

_As the mud entered her lungs and forced the last ounce of breath out of her, all Adeline could think in despair was, **"WHY, MOTHER? WHY?"**_

 

 

 

Hal was at a complete loss for words. Even if he could say something, it would come out trite. An "I'm sorry" would never be enough to convey his horror, his disgust and, most of all, his grief.

 

**_The little girl smiling sadly before him was murdered by her own mother!_ **

 

All he could do was cry silently, his tears stinging the healing wound of his face.

 

Unable to contain his emotions, Hal rushed toward Adeline, enfolding her in his arms as much as the bubble would allow. Needing to feel his embrace desperately, Adeline expanded the bubble so that it would enclose her as well, and she threw her arms around his neck.

 

"What must I do, Adeline?" Hal whispered hoarsely. "How can I give you peace?"

 

"I could never rest, My Prince," Adeline revealed in sorrow, "not while Mother's shade still lives."

 

"Where can I find her?"

 

"She is in your world, being a plague upon your kingdom's monarchs. Her first victim was your cousin Richard II. At present, she is tormenting your father Henry IV, but he is bravely fighting her influence through sheer will and the potion that Snow White had given him."

 

Hal was stunned by this revelation. "Why was I never told of this?"

 

"Because you were injured and everyone did not want you to worry. The King, especially, did not want you to know."

 

It was then that his father's often strange behavior made sense to him, remembering all too clearly Henry's anguish at almost subjecting his son to a most obscene verification of his innocence.

 

Pulling back, Hal gripped Adeline's shoulders. "Tell me. Is there anything I can do to free my father from her evil influence?"

 

"I'm afraid it's already too late for King Henry," Adeline lamented. "Despite what Snow White and the fairies will tell you, only I can destroy my mother's shade. Alas, my spirit is bound to this God-forsaken place. She needs to be brought here, to me, so I can purge her completely. Your father is no longer strong enough to make the journey in between worlds."

 

"But there must be a way!"

 

"Not without considerable risk to you, and I will not see you hurt any more than you already have."

 

Hal shook his head. "No, I swear I'll think of something. I vow on my life that horrid woman shall pay for what she did to my father and to you."

 

The Prince was about to say more when, from out of nowhere, a spear pierced the bubble, dragging with it a rope, its round noose kept in place by a metal wire. Before Hal knew what was happening, the rope tightened around his upper arms, and he was slowly being pulled up to the surface.

 

"Adeline!" he cried, refusing to let go of the little girl.

 

The child gave him one last smile and released her hand, leaving her tiny finger in Hal's grip.

 

"Adeline, I shall come to see you again. I swear you shall never be alone," Hal told her, his voice strong and sure. "And I promise that I will bring your mother's shade back to you. What is her name?"

 

Before his head broke the surface, he heard Adeline say a name. He was then dragged, sputtering, up the bank. Thinking that the Huntsman was his rescuer, Hal was going to round on him.

 

But when he lifted his head, it was to find himself surrounded by hunting hounds with glowing, baleful yellow eyes, watching him silently. Then, his savior squatted down before him—a ruggedly handsome man with stag antlers protruding from the top of his head. The thick mist made it difficult to discern his features.

 

"Come, Your Highness. King Oberon has been longing to meet you," his rescuer said in a soft, rough voice but still filled with refinement.

 

That voice…why was it so familiar to him?

 

The fog thinned slightly, allowing a slender beam of moonlight to illuminate the clearing. Hal gasped in shock, beholding the face of the man who was once his cousin Richard's keeper at his royal estate in Windsor.

 

"Herne?" Hal asked in disbelief, his hand lifting, aching to touch the thin lips and square jaw of the keeper who had been so kind to him, and who had taught him how to use the bow and arrow as well as his skills at hunting and tracking. "Herne? Is it really you?"

 

Herne was clearly taken aback that his quarry knew who he was. "How…how do you know my name?"

 

"Don't you recognize me, Herne?" the Prince insisted. "It's me…Harry of Monmouth! You used to call me 'Young Hal'!"

 

"Hal?" Herne muttered in confusion. But when he got a closer look at the Prince and confirmed that he was indeed the boy he had once cared for, he literally jumped to his feet. "My God! Hal, it really is you!"

 

Hal was about to bombard the hunter with questions, but Herne stomped his foot on the ground, cursing out loud. "Damn it! Why didn't Oberon tell me that—" He whirled toward his former ward and seized his shoulders. "I must return you to Tabor at once! Oberon must never get his hands on you!"

 

"I believe that is my task," a new voice declared. "Now…if you don't mind, please step away from him."

 

Eric stepped forward then, with axe in hand, pulling a protesting Hal behind him. The hounds, seeing their master threatened, rose as one, growling menacingly at the interloper, but the Great Hunter shushed them to grudging silence.

 

"If you are going to serve as his protector," Herne began, smirking, "you need to do a better job than this. You should be thankful that my King has ordered me to find him. He would've died in the quicksand."

 

Hal quickly countered, "No, I was never in any danger! Adeline would not let any harm befall me!"

 

"I thank you for your help," Eric told Herne with forced politeness. "But I shall take His Highness back to the castle."

 

"As you wish," Herne answered with a mocking bow. Before he disappeared into the shadows with his hounds, the Great Hunter warned, "Beware of the fairies of Sanctuary, Hal, especially their king, Oberon. Only you can protect yourself from his wiles and temptations."

 

When they were finally alone, Hal asked, "Where's Lily?"

 

"I ran into her in the woods while I was tracking your marks," Eric reassured him. "She is now with her mother, William, and the men of the search party. What about you? Did that Demon Child hurt you?"

 

"Her name is Adeline and she is no demon!" Hal declared indignantly. Picking up his mask, his eyes narrowed into slits. "It seems all of you have been keeping secrets from me, secrets that involve my father."

 

"We haven't been keeping any secrets from you, My Lord. Right from the start, we have been very open and honest with you." Eric gripped the Prince's arm before Hal could protest. "Let's get you back to the castle. Snow White is probably worrying herself to death over you and Lily."

 

The Huntsman was about to drag him back where he had last left the search party, but Hal wrenched his arm out of Eric's hold and stood his ground.

 

**_"WHO IS RAVENNA?"_ **

 

Eric stopped at once at that name, his whole body tensing. He could not bring himself to turn around lest the Prince confirms the truth on his open, honest face which was now contorted with hatred.

 

But the Huntsman did not need to say anything at all.

 

As Hal stormed past him, the Prince bumped into him hard, almost causing him to lose his balance.

 

"No more secrets, Eric!" Hal commanded, gripping the tiny bone that was once Adeline's little finger in his right hand. "You will tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I definitely do mean **_everything_**!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, Herne looks like Mads Mikkelsen. ;)


	15. Chapter 14

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright August 2, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 14**

 

The ride back to the castle was a quiet but tension-filled one. Hal could feel everyone's eyes upon him. Anna and Lily were very fearful of his anger and disapproval, given what they know now about Adeline, whom they have wrongfully dubbed a 'Demon Child'. Eric was riding in front of him, leading the way out of the Dark Forest. But there were moments when the Huntsman would glance back at him surreptitiously, wanting to say something, anything to placate the seething resentment he knew the Prince was feeling at that moment. Hal, however, would just keep his eyes forward. He wanted to steel himself for the confrontation that lay ahead.

 

Snow White was waiting for them in the courtyard. She was about to run toward him, but Eric and William held her back. As he helped Anna and Lily get down from their horse, the Prince heard William say to her, "He knows."

 

Still, Hal kept his silence, escorting mother and daughter inside the castle. Before they could reach the wing where the other women and children from the village were settled, Anna laid her hand on his arm.

 

"We know the way, My Prince," Anna reassured him. "You have much to talk about with the others. But please. Stay your anger. They did it so you wouldn't be burdened by worries while you are still healing. They would've revealed everything to you in due time. Ravenna…" The village leader's lips tightened. "…The matter regarding that wicked queen was never intended to be kept from you for too long."

 

"I should've been told right from the start, especially since it involves my father," Hal stated bluntly, not hiding his resentment.

 

Anna nodded. "Yes, I understand," was all she could say in the end. No words could justify keeping secret a father's dire plight from his own son.

 

Lily tugged on the Prince's hand. As Hal got down on one knee before her, she sobbed, "I…I'm very sorry about Adeline. I…we never knew. From now on, we shall tell the truth. No one will call her a demon ever again."

 

"Thank you, Lily," Hal smiled as he patted the little girl's head. "I'm sure she would appreciate that."

 

"Hal, do you think she would approve if the other children and I visit her in the Dark Forest? Maybe we could be friends?"

 

"I don't see why not. I'm sure she would love to have friends, being alone all these years. I'll even accompany you and introduce you to her."

 

Lily threw her arms around the Prince's neck and kissed his cheek. "Thank you so much, My Prince!"

 

They exchanged a few more words before Hal finally excused himself in order to meet with Snow White and the others. As he turned at the next corridor, he literally bumped into a surprised Huntsman who had been waiting for him in the shadows.

 

"Snow White, William and the Seven Dwarves are waiting for you in the Queen's chamber," Eric said, twiddling his fingers nervously.

 

"Let's not keep them waiting then."

 

The royal suite was situated in the west wing of the castle, overlooking the sea. When they entered the chamber, however, what caught Hal's eye instantly was the enormous bronze shield hanging on the wall. It took him awhile to realize that it was not a shield at all but the famous Magic Mirror he had heard so much about. Somehow, the more he stared at that Mirror, the greater was the creeping sensation that he was feeling in his spine.

 

Everyone was already seated at the table that had been brought up. Hal chose to sit at the end. He wanted to have a good look at their faces so that he could gauge their honesty.

 

Seeing the Prince's somber, expectant form, Snow White stood up from her own chair and chose to sit at his right side. With a discreet nod to the Huntsman, she bade him to sit at Hal's left.

 

Sighing, the young Queen began, "I believe you already know a version of my story from the fairy tales that are being told in your realm. When my mother passed away due to an illness, my father, who was grieving and was lonely for the beloved wife he had lost, fell instantly in love with a woman whom he had saved from mysterious black glass soldiers in the woods. At first, the woman seemed soft-spoken and kind. Even I liked her. She would always say how beautiful I was and that she wanted me to be her daughter, if I could accept her to be my new mother. I…trusted her. But on the evening of their marriage, I saw her murder my father in their wedding bed. Instead of joy and celebration, that evening turned into a nightmare as her Dark Army invaded the castle. I was escaping with William, but a guard seized me from behind and the portcullis closed, separating me from my friends and loved ones. For over a decade, she had me imprisoned in the highest tower. That was how I became a prisoner of the witch Ravenna."

 

"During the time that Ravenna was queen and Snow White was locked up in the tower," Muir took up the narration, "a reign of terror swept across the land, sparing no one. The fairies retreated to a world called Sanctuary. The Dwarves, we among them, hid as much of our treasures as we possibly could when Ravenna seized our mines. We went underground for a month-long mining shift. But when we emerged, we discovered, to our dismay, that both the land and our village were destroyed, our poor kin fled to parts unknown."

 

"It is the people of the kingdom who suffered the most under Ravenna's reign," William continued. "She has a deep seated hatred for men, and she would kill all who would dare to go against her. The only man whom she trusted was her brother Finn; you now know that he was also her lover. Women who were young and beautiful were seized and brought to her, so that she could suck out their life force and keep her young. Some women, like those in Anna's village, mutilated their faces to protect themselves. Others who fought back…" He gave the Huntsman a painful glance.

 

Despite his ill feelings, Hal found himself reaching out for Eric's hand and squeezed it hard. "Yes, I know. I possess Sara's memories of what happened to her."

 

"The Magic Mirror, which was then under Ravenna's control, revealed to her that the only way she could stay young forever was for her to consume my heart," Snow White went on. "Finn went to the tower to get me. But thanks to the little birds and the fairies who became my companions throughout my imprisonment, I was able to escape into the Dark Forest. Ravenna convinced Eric to lead Finn and her soldiers into the forest, promising that she would bring his wife back from the dead. Thankfully, Eric became my reluctant protector, especially after Finn revealed to him the truth that Ravenna had no such powers. Eventually, during the course of our brief travel together, I met Anna and her people, these kind dwarves, one of whom perished protecting me. I was also reunited with William."

 

William shook his head. "But Ravenna would not give up. She disguised herself as me and gave her a poisoned apple. I believe you yourself know its effects, since Eric used it in order to aid in the extraction of the arrow from your face. For awhile, we thought her dead, but she awakened just in time to lead our people in one final assault on the castle. With the help of the Huntsman and the Dwarves, we were victorious. It was Snow White herself who drove her dagger into Ravenna's heart."

 

Hal did not miss the looks that were exchanged between the Huntsman and his Queen. So it was not William's kiss that had awakened her. Somehow, the Prince did not know whether he should be happy about this knowledge or not.

 

"With Ravenna dead and her Dark Army defeated, we thought that it was finally over," Beith then interjected. "But then, when we Dwarves were about to go back to our homeland to search for our missing brothers, we saw that nothing has changed in the Dark Forest. With her death, the forest should have been healed of her evil magic, but the darkness within persisted. It was the fairies who discovered that Ravenna's shade continued to live within the forest. Somehow, they were able to isolate her shade and kept it in some secret place where it could no longer cause trouble for anyone. We only learned recently that her shade had broken free from its prison and had fled to your mortal world."

 

"How was she able to escape?" Hal inquired.

 

Muir answered forlorn, "Up to now, no one knows. With the land still practically polluted by her evil, we could not trace her. Sadly, when we were informed about her escape, Ravenna has already sunk her vile claws into Richard II and was murdered by loyalists to your father."

 

"I had spoken with His Majesty. He was very distressed about what he almost did to you…after that night at The Boar's Head," Eric finally confessed. "I revealed to him the same story that was told to you now. As it turned out, King Henry had long suspected that something was…wrong…with him. He was afraid that something…evil…was influencing him. That's why he was very determined to go to the Holy Land. But Ravenna's evil is something that could not be purged by a priest or a pilgrimage to a sacred place."

 

Hal remembered what Adeline said to him. "Yes, I was informed of that fact. Which brings me to the most important question of all…Why did you not tell me all this sooner?" He gave the Huntsman a pained look. "Eric, you know that my relationship with my father is strained. You could have told me this was happening to him. You know I would never have left him alone to deal with this."

 

"Your father didn't want me to tell you."

 

"Why? Because he didn't trust me on account of the people I was consorting with?"

 

"No! It's because he doesn't want you to be corrupted by Ravenna's shade since it is you whom she wants next!" Eric had stood up at this vehement outburst, shocking the Prince. "Your Highness, your father loves you so much. He vowed that he would rather die with Ravenna's shade inside him than to have her torment your mind and your soul. He made me swear to keep this a secret and to protect you."

 

"But who is protecting my father in turn? I am his son! You have no right to keep me from my duty toward him, especially now that he needs me most!" Hal settled on the backrest, tears filling his eyes. "Then again, I suppose all this is my fault. I have been so reckless, irresponsible, and selfish. How could he trust me?"

 

"My trust has always been with you, my son. But it is you who refuse to see it."

 

All whirled toward the Magic Mirror to find King Henry IV reflected in its face. The King was dressed in his sleep robes, with a thick shawl draped over his skinny form. Never had his father looked so ill, so miserable, and so weary.

 

"Father…" Hal rose from his seat, hesitant to approach the mirror.

 

King Henry gazed at the people in the room. "May I please speak to my son in private?"

 

Snow White nodded, knowing that only the monarch could explain his intentions and emotions toward his firstborn. Quietly, she ushered everyone out of the room. For a moment, Eric hesitated, but the Queen gently pulled him from the doorway and closed the door.

 

When they were at last alone, Hal stumbled toward the mirror. "Father, are you well? The rebellion…"

 

"The rebellion still rages on, unfortunately," Henry revealed. "But it is nothing that we could not handle. It is to our advantage that we still have the people's loyalty and trust."

 

"I should be there at your side, help you fight the rebels who dare…"

 

"Your wound is still healing, Harry. I won't allow you to return to the battlefield where your wound might reopen or, worse, get killed by another arrow or a sword thrust." The King's face hardened in firm resolve. "We cannot afford to lose you, my son."

 

"Are you saying that you still think me worthy of the throne, even after the many times that I have shamed you?"

 

"I will admit that I had been terribly disappointed in you. But Westmoreland and even the Huntsman have opened my eyes to the fact that your association with Falstaff and his ilk is of worth to you. To be the epitome of the lowlife and the unruly until you redeem yourself when the people least expect you to—that is what Eric heard you declare in Eastcheap, am I right?"

 

Hal grimaced to hear his father echo his words in the alley. "The Huntsman should learn to keep my secrets to himself, just as good as he is keeping yours."

 

A rare smile brightened Henry's face as he chuckled. "He is your guardian after all. I'm pleased to see that he is doing his duty well."

 

"Still, you should've told me what Ravenna is doing to you. I may not have been the perfect son to you, but I deserve to know. Father…does she hurt you?"

 

"Oh no. It is nothing physical, I assure you. But most of the time, I cannot determine which thoughts are mine and which result from her influence."

 

"But your illness, your frequent headaches..."

 

'Tis not because of her, Harry. This I swear to you."

 

Hal though was not entirely convinced. "I feel so helpless. I want to do something for you. Anything!"

 

"And what would you do? You saw what she did to Richard. My poor cousin! I had been so wrong about him. Ravenna changed Richard, incited us to rebel against him…to kill him. Now, in the eyes of our people, this rebellion that has consumed our fair nation is being blamed upon me, and not the dark shade which had possessed me. Richard and I were powerless against her. The least that I could do now is to prevent her from tainting you with her evil."

 

"But, Father…"

 

**_"HARRY, I WILL NOT HAVE YOU ARGUING WITH ME!"_ **

 

At his father's stern rebuke, the tears that Hal was trying so hard to hold started streaming down his face. To stop the sounds of his sobs, he clapped his right hand over his lips, but his body hitched from the strain of his emotions.

 

Seeing his firstborn's pitiful form, Henry started to weep himself. Smiling tenderly, he said, "I promise you, son. You will return home very soon so that you can help me put this kingdom to rights. Until then, learn what you can from Snow White and her people. She is a kind and wise queen, despite her young age. You will need her knowledge about Ravenna and her ways. As distasteful as it may seem to you, learn from the Huntsman as well, for his is the voice of the common people whom you shall govern in the future."

 

"Why won't you let me go to your side now, Father?" Hal insisted. "Can I not be of assistance to you now?"

 

"Harry, it is much too early for you to come home. Presently, I am still capable of ruling the kingdom. However, I will need you when Ravenna's hold over me becomes too strong for me to fight back. When that time comes, I will be making decisions that will not be in the best interest of our people. I will need you to study every law, every decision that I will make, and countermand me if you know that it would not be right for the kingdom.  Because any questionable judgments or rulings then will not come from me but from Ravenna. I need you to be strong, Harry, in heart and in will, because I will fight you at every turn to the point that I may break your heart." King Henry let out a heavy sigh. "I know this would be extremely difficult for you, considering how the court and the people see you now. But Eric told me that there is a…purpose…to your actions. While I may be harsh with you as your king, but as your father, I trust in your wisdom. I know that you will not bring our country into turmoil as Richard and I have done."

 

Hal fell to his knees before the mirror. Slowly, he raised his hand, hoping to touch his father, but his palm pressed over cold metal instead. "Father, please!" he begged one last time. "Please let me go home!"

 

"When you are finally well, my son, I promise," the King said gently, but firmly, lifting his hand to the mirror he was using at his end and pressing it over the image of his son's palm. "In the meantime, heal and learn."

 

"No, wait!" Hal cried urgently, seeing Henry's image gradually fading away. "There is still something I must tell you!"

 

However, the connection between Tabor and England has already been cut.

 

Hal completely broke down then, slipping to the floor beneath the mirror as his body was wracked by sobs.

 

Eric would enter the chamber after an hour to find Hal lying and weeping on the floor, speaking again and again the words which he had never spoken to King Henry since the day he found Richard II lying dead in a coffin inside the throne room.

 

"I love you, Father! I love you so very much!"


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for posting this so late. Work has kept me pretty busy. It's a miracle that I was able to squeeze this chapter in, considering the fact that I'm doing a big travel project right now. Please pardon the errors. I'll make the necessary edits and corrections once I finish my deadlines.

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright August 18, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 15**

 

With thoughts of his father weighing heavily inside his mind, Hal fell into deep depression. He would not leave his chamber, a prisoner of his own making. Any food that was brought to him remained untouched. Most visitors were sent away with an entreaty that he wanted to be left alone. The more persistent ones, like the Huntsman, Snow White, and the Dwarves, were ignored. Even Anna and the children had little luck in shaking him out of his despondency.

 

Although he knew his presence was particularly unwanted, Eric would always go and check on the Prince without fail. Not a chatterer by nature, he would tell Hal about what has been going on in the kingdom, punctuating every tale with cajoles for him to leave his room. But Hal never spoke to him. The Prince would just sit in silence on the window ledge, the mask the only thing that could be seen of his face, its white porcelain surface always wet with tears.

 

Out of desperation to get the young royal out into the world again, it was Eric who suggested to Snow White that they hold a Gathering—a simple but happy fair with stalls of food and merchandise for the women and children to enjoy and a tournament for able-bodied men who love to compete and show off their skills—to be capped by William's hunt three days later. Approving the Huntsman's idea, the Queen had him, the Dwarves, and Anna make plans for the event and enforce them on her behalf.

 

In the courtyard and in the village outside the castle walls, tents and stalls were erected. Banners, pennants and flags were strewn on strong rope which crisscrossed all over the grounds. On the beach, bleachers were built for the tournament.

 

Yet, despite the bustle of activity, Hal remained inside his chamber.

 

On the first day of the Gathering, the Prince was listlessly poking at his food when there was a knock on his door.

 

"Please go away," Hal called out wearily. "I told you I'm not feeling well and could not attend the festivities."

 

The door opened to reveal the Huntsman. "So you keep saying," Eric remarked with a shrug, his fingers tucked into the waistband of his trousers. "But you have a visitor who has come a long way to see you. Surely you would not deprive her of your company since it was Lily who invited her on your behalf."

 

Hal stared at Eric, frowning, until two impish faces peeked at him from behind the Huntsman. Eric felt his breath catch in his throat as a glorious smile lit up the Prince's face, instantly dispelling the gloom that had surrounded him. As Eric watched, Hal lifted his arms in welcome. That gesture was encouragement enough for Lily and Adeline—who had conjured up a beautiful sky blue dress based on a design that Anna made for her—to run into his embrace.

 

"I went into the Dark Forest to invite Adeline to the Gathering," Lily explained to him in breathless excitement.

 

"The Dark Forest is a dangerous place, Lily. You know that," Hal chided her. "You could've gotten hurt."

 

"It's alright," Adeline reassured him. "I sensed her presence and protected her."

 

Lily squeezed Adeline's hand. "I'm glad she accepted my invitation and, more so, that she is now my best friend. Adeline's been helping us with the preparations for the Gathering, but she didn't want me to tell you, saying that she wanted to surprise you."

 

"And it truly is a marvelous surprise!" Hal declared, very happy.

 

Adeline gazed into the Prince's face through her strange, but beautiful eyes. "You have kept yourself separate from those who love you," she said thoughtfully and with wisdom that was beyond her child-like appearance. "Why do you grieve for your father when he still lives and is patiently awaiting your return? Please, My Prince. He would not want to see you like this. As selfish as my request may seem, I wish you would keep me and Lily company in this Gathering, festivities which I have never experienced in my brief life."

 

Hal kissed the two girls on their cheeks. To Eric's immense relief, the Prince's answer to Adeline's entreaty was, "Please give me a moment to get dressed."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Minutes later, Hal was escorting Adeline and Lily through the fairgrounds. But because the sadness and worry persisted inside his heart, he could only bring himself to speak when spoken to. Understanding his concerns, the two girls decided not to bother him with their excited chatter, instead tugging the Prince along when they saw something that might interest him. As always, the Huntsman followed them like a shadow.

 

When the children ran off to buy some food for them, Hal finally found the opportunity speak with Eric, who was then watching two guardsmen go at it with sword and mace.

 

Sidling over to the Huntsman, who was trying in vain not to look like he had been tailing them, Hal crossed his arms over his chest and said, "I suppose it was your idea to have Lily go into the Dark Forest to fetch Adeline. The poor girl could've been hurt."

 

Eric had the good grace to actually look offended by that insinuation. "Of course not! But…I did discuss a similar suggestion to Snow White that she and I go to see Adeline. It seems Lily overheard us and decided to head off into the woods on her own. It was a good thing that a guard saw her depart and informed me immediately. It was me who brought them both here to the castle."

 

"I'm happy to see you, at least, took responsibility for a suggestion that a child did for you. I must admit that I am glad that Lily was able to convince Adeline to come visit me." Hal's face darkened with the seething resentment he could not contain. "BUT, I am still very angry with you for concealing my father's condition from me. As much as I do understand yours and everyone's reasons for doing so, what irks me so much is that you took away my ability to make my own decisions. And for that, I demand some form of…retribution…for the pain, the helplessness, and the anger that I've been feeling over the past few days."

 

"If you're trying to say that you want to give me the sound trouncing that I deserve then fight me in the tournament," Eric challenged the royal, not keeping his eyes off the two sparring guardsmen. "But if you think that I'll just stand still and let you beat me to a bloody pulp, you're wrong. I will give you a damned good fight, Your Highness, if only to show you that I don't regret any of my actions with regards to you and King Henry."

 

Hal's lips tightened in a thin, set line. "Very well then. I shall meet you in combat in the tournament. Be prepared, Huntsman, for I will not hold back."

 

"That is what I expect you to do."

 

Lily and Adeline cautiously approached them then, having listened to their exchange.

 

"You are not going to kill each other in the tournament…are you?" Lily asked, her eyes wide in alarm.

 

"My dear Lily," Adeline began sagely, "this is how men are. All these posturing, these displays of manly bravado when they are offended, it only shows that men are incapable of discussing their grievances in a calm, rational manner. To put it in simpler terms, men are morons who can only settle things between them with sword or fists."

 

"Adeline!" Hal exclaimed in affront. "That's not true!"

 

"Really?" Adeline's right eyebrow lifted in a dry glower. "Then why don't you and the Huntsman here sit down and talk things over instead of bashing each other's brains in the tournament?"

 

"Because it's IMPOSSIBLE to talk reason with a mulehead like him!" the Prince argued, pointing a finger straight at Eric's temple, causing the older man to jerk back in offense and shock. "I should know. This fool was my husband in a past life, and the only way that I could get my sentiments across in the clearest terms possible was to brain him with a frying pan or a rolling pin."

 

"Aye, and it damn gave me a bloody headache too. But…" At this measured pause Eric's lips curled up at the corners in a lewd smile. "…I always brought every dispute to a most satisfying conclusion in our bed, and I never heard any further arguments."

 

"You perverted…" Hal whirled, searching for something, anything to hit the smug Huntsman with. It just so happened that a woman was passing by with fresh pies on a tray. The Prince snatched a pie before she could squeal in surprise and protest and mashed it hard into Eric's face, so that he was covered from forehead to chin with cream filling and crumbs.

 

As Eric smacked his lips and licked the cream from around his mouth, Hal resumed his tirade. "'Tis a good thing that I was reborn a man. I wouldn't have to endure your heavy pawing and your loathsome ki—"

 

The young royal's rant was brought to an abrupt halt when an infuriated Huntsman yanked him into his arms and kissed him hard and deeply. Hal pounded his fists on Eric's shoulders, struggling to free himself. To his utter mortification, he was slowly succumbing to Eric's kisses like a swooning maiden.

 

Lily's jaw had dropped at the shocking sight before her. Giggling, Adeline pushed her jaw up before a fly could zip inside.

 

"Now there's something you don't see every day," Adeline remarked with amused wryness.

 

Hearing those words, Hal shoved Eric back. Although his face was also smeared with white cream, one can clearly see the dark red shade that suffused his cheeks. Shocked gasps arose from everyone who was watching them when Hal's hand whipped out and slapped the Huntsman's cheek.

 

 ** _"I…HATE…YOU!"_** The Prince muttered, his voice low but furious. Going toward the girls, he started pushing them in the opposite direction, saying "Come along, children. I don't want you corrupted by a fool."

 

Surprisingly, Adeline drew away from them. "If you don't mind, Your Highness, I'll stay awhile with this fool. Having been exposed to my mother, I'm very much immune to corruption."

 

Hal threw Eric a warning glower before escorting Lily off.

 

When they were finally alone, Adeline let out her exhalation of exasperation. "You know, Huntsman. If you want to capture Hal's heart, being absolutely contrary toward him is not the way to do it."

 

"And who says I have any affections for that arrogant prince?" the Huntsman blurted back, unable to hide the blush on his cheeks.

 

"If you didn't have any feelings for him, you wouldn't have kissed him. You are way too obvious, my friend. What I am wondering, though, is whether you are in love with Hal himself or your wife whom he was in the past? Until you resolve this particular dilemma, I don't see you succeeding in any kind of relationship with him."

 

"Hmph! You are far too young to give me advice on matters of the heart."

 

"You're lucky that you're able to love. I'm dead, remember?"

 

Eric's expression softened at that last. "I'm sorry, Adeline."

 

"That's alright," Adeline said in reassurance. "Anyway, I'll do everything I can to get you two closer together. Hal needs someone more stable in his life." She gave him a knowing look. "I take it King Henry approves of you too."

 

"His Majesty is practically throwing his son into my arms."

 

"Good! That means we have no impediments."

 

As Adeline laughed, somehow, Eric could not suppress his shudder of mixed dread and anticipation at the thought that something may develop between himself and the wayward Prince of Wales.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

If at first Eric was looking forward to having Hal as a potential lover, he soon abandoned that notion on the day of the tournament as he watched, with increasing alarm, as the Prince demolished every single man who went up against him.

 

From his position in front of the bleachers, he heard Snow White whisper to William, "Do I sense an aura of murderous rage from Prince Hal?"

 

William nodded, swallowing hard. "Now I'm relieved that I only signed up for the archery competition later on." He winced as Hal downed his adversary with a knee to the guts followed by a strike of his sword hilt to the head. "If I were down there right now, I'd probably be battered and bruised by now."

 

"Don't think yourself spared from the Prince's wrath, Your Majesty," Adeline remarked from her seat between Snow White and Lily. "Truth be told, in his mind's eye, Prince Hal is not battling the competitors in the tournament, but just one man."

 

"Who?" Snow White asked curiously.

 

Before Adeline could answer, the cryer announced the start of the axe throwing tournament. Surprisingly, Hal was among the competitors. Already, his blue gray eyes were off to a good start, hurling sharp daggers at Eric, who was struggling to ignore those penetrating looks that Hal was throwing his way.

 

"Forget I asked," Snow White remarked to Adeline with a roll of her eyes. "I already know who it is."

 

As it turned out, Hal was equally proficient at throwing axes, so that he rose up the ranks of the competitors just as fast as the Huntsman. At the last, he and Eric remained, together with the Seven Dwarves who were using pickaxes instead of regular axes and hatchets. Everyone watched as Eric and the dwarves threw their axes, hitting the targets dead in the center.

 

 Walking over to the targets to retrieve their weapons, Beith commented to Eric, "It looks like we need to go a few more rounds, eh, Huntsman?"

 

The dwarf jumped though when an axe flew between him and the Huntsman and cleaved his pickaxe's handle in two. **_"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU FOOL PRINCE? YOU NEARLY TOOK MY HEAD OFF!"_**

 

Hal, however, was striding across the field, grabbing axes and simply throwing them at the targets with no effort at all, each of the dwarves ducking or falling down to the ground lest they get struck by a blade. To their shock, all of their weapons have been cleanly hacked.

 

"Uh…I guess Prince Hal wins the axe throwing tournament," Snow White declared, still stunned by what Hal had just done.

 

"Not yet, Your Majesty," Eric declared as he went back to the bin, containing the reserve hatchets. He then proceeded to hurl the axes one by one with determined deliberation, the blades cutting through Hal's axes.

 

"So, the Huntsman is the winner in this one," the Queen stammered, now very confused by the sudden turning of tables. Seeing Hal's heated glower, she hastily corrected, "Or maybe I should call it a tie."

 

The Prince of Wales strode over to the bleachers. "I concede to the Huntsman this time, because I will never share the title of winner. However, if I may pose a suggestion regarding the archery tournament, whoever loses in the finals, he should have an apple placed on top of his head for the winner to shoot at."

 

"Going for my utter humiliation, eh?" Eric stated bluntly.

 

"No, I actually want your head," Hal said firmly.

 

"Uhm, if I may inquire," William interrupted, "what if the Huntsman does not make it to the finals?"

 

"No one is exempt, Your Majesty. Not even you."

 

Hearing her husband's choked "Eep!", Snow White decided to take pity on him and anyone who might end up getting pitted against Hal in the end. "I'm afraid I could not make a change in the rules at this late point in time, Your Highness."

 

"As you wish," Hal snorted as he stormed off to wait for the next competition.

 

As Eric and the Dwarves leaned against the stands, still stunned by what Hal had done, the Queen leaned over to hiss at the Huntsman, "What in heaven's name did you do to the Prince of Wales?"

 

It was Lily who supplied the snappy answer. "The Huntsman kissed His Highness, Your Majesty."

 

Everyone turned shocked eyes toward Eric, who, upon seeing their stares, blurted out, **_"WHAT?!"_**

 

As Snow White and William shook their heads, the Dwarves crossed themselves, raised their eyes, and prayed in unison, **_"God have mercy on your soul!"_**

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Between the Huntsman and Prince Hal, they practically barreled their way through the ranks of the archery competition, not once missing their targets. Still fearing for his head, William chose to lose deliberately, earning him a disappointed glare from his wife and smirks from Eric and Hal.

 

As expected, the finals came down to just the two men. For the finals of the archery competition, they would shoot at the targets while riding a horse. They took their time at their respective places, carefully inspecting their bow and arrows while the stable boys led the horses that they would be using. Hal, in particular, had a very tiny green apple sitting on his table top.

 

"Are you still expecting that you will be able to put that little thing on my head, despite the Queen's refusing your suggestion?" Eric asked, his thick eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

 

Hal shrugged. "Who knows? Snow White might still change her mind."

 

"Oh, then in that case, I better prepare something as well." Saying this, Eric placed a cherry on top of his table.

 

"That's not an apple, Huntsman," the Prince growled warningly.

 

Undaunted, Eric remarked with a good-natured smirk, "I don't have any other fruits on me."

 

Same as in their previous competition in England, the Huntsman went first. Kicking his horse down the beach, Eric displayed pinpoint accuracy, his arrows striking each of the seven targets right in the bullseye.

 

Everyone cheered at the Huntsman prowess, with the Dwarves and some of the courtiers giving him praises for his excellent work. Hal even gave him a grudging handshake before marching over to his own steed.

 

No one noticed the rider that was galloping up the beach. Before anyone knew what was happening, the rider fired his arrows, the sharp projectiles embedding itself at the same spot as the Huntsman's bolts. When he drew his mount to a halt, it was then that everyone got a closer look at this intruder.

 

This new archer was dressed completely in white, his cape a long, flowing garment made out of swan feathers. On his head, he wore a white wide-brimmed hat adorned with a peacock feather, which concealed his face. His mount was not a horse at all, but a handsome stag with branching antlers.

 

There was no mistaking who this man was.

 

Everyone, including Snow White and William, were about to bow to this mysterious stranger. But then, Eric saw the dark expression on Hal's face, furious to have his moment of glory interrupted by this rude upstart.

**_"YOUR HIGHNESS, DON'T!"_** Eric cried out in warning, but it was too late.

 

Hal kicked his horse into a full gallop. With his arms steady and his aim true, he fired, his arrows insinuating itself between that of the Huntsman's and the stranger's so that their bolts were dislodged from the target, falling to the ground.

 

For several tense minutes, silence fell upon the beach. No one dared speak; all were staring worriedly at the man in white and at what he might do to the angry prince.

 

Then, the stranger burst into laughter, his voice a rich baritone. "I have heard that you were a good archer, My Prince, but it seems that that claim was clearly an understatement."

 

The stranger's entourage rode up at that moment, with Herne the Hunter leading them. Just by the sight of their pointed ears, there was no mistaking what they were.

 

Herne shot his master an irritated glower. "Your Majesty, I told you to wait for us."

 

"Forgive me, Herne. I did not want to wait lest I miss the competition. It's a good thing that I made it in time."

 

Getting down from the stag, the stranger approached Hal, who had jumped down from his horse. He whipped off his hat with a flourish and thrust it into Herne's hands, revealing a strikingly handsome face with twinkling greenish gray eyes. His long, straight hair was like a waterfall of copper silk reaching down to his back.

 

Before Hal could speak, the stranger got down on one knee, took his hand, and tenderly kissed his fingertips.

 

"It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Prince Harry of England," he declared, giving a blushing Hal his most charming and disarming smile. "I am Oberon, King of the fairies and elves of Sanctuary."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and in case you're curious, Oberon looks like Lee Pace. ;)


	17. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Eric makes a request and Hal learns the story of Herne, the Great Huntsman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in posting this. I just have a ton of RL issues to deal with at the moment. Again, I'm pretty sure there are errors in this so please excuse them for the meantime. I need to get this chapter out before I am swamped again with work next week.

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright September 15, 2013 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 16**

 

Eric should have been happy and relieved that he was spared from being humiliated or, worse, utterly annihilated at the tournament by Prince Hal with the unexpected arrival of the flamboyant Oberon. Instead, he found himself saddled with an even bigger headache—that of trying to keep the angry Prince of Wales from being with the Fairy King for lengthy periods of time which would allow said monarch to pose pricey propositions pertaining to the wound on Hal's face.

 

This task, which Snow White strongly pressed upon him with the added request to be "discreet and tactful", was easier said than done.

 

Oberon had practically become the Prince's shadow, accompanying the human royal through the bustling fairgrounds and on jaunts through the corners of the kingdom. To Eric's dismay, Hal seemed to be enjoying the King's company, accepting Oberon's every invitation to join him to wherever it was he desired to go, which was, more often than not, nowhere at all. It was very obvious that Oberan wanted the Prince to himself, something Eric would never permit, if he could help it.

 

At one point, Hal had observed his tenacity and waved him off flippantly, "My dear Huntsman, could you please take your disagreeable presence elsewhere? One would think you're jealous the way you're sticking to me like a prickly burr."

 

Eric—who was indeed jealous, but who would never admit to the fact—made the big mistake of opening his blundering mouth yet again. "Eh? Me, jealous? Why should I be jealous of yonder pansy when I know full well ye want a real man to keep ye in a tight rein?"

 

Hal did not have to say anything in rebuttal. All he had to do was deliver a devastating knee to the Huntsman's groin, a vile deed that Eric completely forgot the Prince was devilishly capable of. Needless to say, later rides with an incensed Hal and a jocular Oberon required Eric to wear a special metal codpiece made for him by those cackling Dwarves.

 

Seeing that Hal would never listen to him, Eric decided to voice his concerns to another party on the Fairy King's side. It was after dinner that he found the opportunity to speak to the Great Huntsman. Herne had excused himself earlier at the table of his Master, saying that he had business to attend to. Eric swiftly gobbled up his leg of lamb, gulped down his ale, and belched like a moose—much to Hal's disgust—before muttering "Excuse me" and running after his quarry.

 

To his surprise, Herne was waiting for him in the stables, an eyebrow cocked up expectantly at him. "Let me guess. You are going to fob off your headache upon me."

 

"Herne, I won't mince words with you," Eric began formally. "You must convince your King to return to Sanctuary."

 

"You don't need to tell me that, Eric," Herne replied in all honesty. "I have been telling His Majesty that he should not pursue Prince Hal's affections. But Oberon is determined to have him." He let out an exasperated sigh. "The word has yet to reach this human kingdom, but I will inform you now. The King has ended his marriage with Queen Titania. As we speak, Her Majesty has gone on a lengthy journey with her entourage and the human child she is so fond of. It is Oberon's desire to have Hal replace Titania and rule the fairy kingdom at his side.

 

"Prince Hal would never agree to it. He wants to return home to England and be with his ailing father. As infuriating as he may be sometimes, Hal knows his responsibilities to his future kingdom."

 

"But there are ways by which Oberon could ensure that Hal would never leave this place. Having him consume fairy food is one; this was a favorite play of Queen Titania. Another way is if Hal's heart should fall for someone in this realm…which is unlikely to happen since that certain someone is as dense as a rock." Herne muttered that last with a roll of his eyes, earning him a glower from Eric. "There is also…that way…"

 

"What way?" Eric inquired.

 

"Forging a pact with a fairy to attain certain favors. I saw the wound on Hal's face. The lad has always been a beauty. I know that his looks weigh as heavy on his mind as his concern for his father. Oberon would most certainly take advantage of this weakness."

 

The younger huntsman nodded in agreement. "Aye, that is the concern that we all have. But since we have kept King Henry's plight a secret from him, Hal is angry with us and is no longer inclined to listen to what we have to say."

 

"And you think I could reason with the Prince on your behalf."

 

"I would consider it a personal favor."

 

Herne paused, looking Eric straight in the eyes. "You care for Hal, although there is so much confusion on your part. Is it because he was once your wife?"

 

"I see certain little tongues have been wagging." Eric remembered seeing Adeline speaking with the Great Huntsman before returning in the evening to her boggy home in the Dark Forest.

 

"The ghost girl Adeline thought it wise to inform me, and good thing too. Now I understand why  Oberon is even more determined to court Hal. He thinks of you as his rival, though at this moment, he is pleased at the rift between you and our hot-headed Prince. But if your still-existent bond with Hal should prove stronger, I fear what Oberon might do."

 

"So…will you help me?"

 

Herne laughed as he patted Eric's shoulder. "I will try. Hal is like a son to me, and I would see him sit on the throne of England than serve as Royal Consort in the fairy kingdom. That is also what you want for him, am I right?"

 

"Aye. I have failed him when he was once my wife Sara. Hal would be better off free from a relationship with me. I would rather see him happy in a new life with someone else. It is enough for me that I serve as his protector, to always be at his side to ensure his safety and happiness."

 

"I made a similar oath once to Richard II and it did not end well for me." The Great Huntsman gestured to the antlers on his head. "I hope that you will prove better at your duty."

 

"I intend to," Eric said firmly.

 

"Aye, Huntsman," Herne agreed, nodding in approval. "I believe you would."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

"I assume Eric had asked you to speak with me. Am I correct?"

 

That dry tone of voice, that narrow-eyed glare… Herne never realized that a terrible headache could extend to the tips of his antlers.

 

Hal's expression thankfully softened when he beheld his former mentor's distress. He reached out and smoothed the lines on the Great Huntsman's brow, a sweet gesture he used to do for Herne when he was but a child.

 

"I'm sorry, Herne. I didn't mean to trouble you," Hall offered the apology sincerely. "To be honest though, I do wish to speak with you as we used to do when I was little. And, yes, I wouldn't mind if the topic of our discussion is that lumbering oaf, just as long as we talk. Herne, I missed you."

 

"And I missed you too." Herne could no longer contain his emotions. He stood up from the bench he was sitting on and gave Hal a tight hug. "God, Hal! You were the sole bright light in King Richard's court. When your father asked you to return to Monmouth Castle, I lost…all hope…"

 

"My dearest friend and teacher, please! Let us sit down and talk. The Prince urged the older man back down on the bench and sat down beside him. Taking the Great Huntsman's right hand in his warm grasp, Hal began reluctantly, "Why did you do it, Herne? Why did you kill yourself?"

 

"It's a long story, Hal."

 

"I will listen."

 

Herne breathed in deeply as he started his story. "After you left Windsor, Richard began acting strangely. As the days passed, he grew mentally unstable, making unwise, frivolous decisions, distrustful of those who were truly loyal to him. He would listen to vipers who trickled lies and poison in his ears. That was what the other estate keepers did; they slandered my good name to the King out of jealousy of my talents and gifts at hunting.

 

"One day, I accompanied the King on a hunt. I was determined to prove myself to him, that I was still of worth. I should've seen the signs then—the trampled bushes, broken twigs and branches. Before we knew what was happening, a wild hart sprang from the brush, causing Richard to fall off his horse. I leaped for the hart before he could attack His Majesty, stabbing it again and again with my knife. But the beast was enraged and, although I was able to bring it to the ground, it had gored me fatally."

 

Herne paused before continuing, "A man named Philip Urswick suddenly appeared then, saying that he could heal me, on the condition that I should lose my prowess as a huntsman. I suspected that this was a plot of those keepers. I would've preferred death than to lose my gifts. But Richard was guilt-stricken and agreed to the man's terms. Urswick healed me by pouring the hart's life force into me. To make me part-man, part-deer, he attached these antlers to my head."

 

Hal blinked back at his beloved mentor in shock. He could not think of any words that could comfort the man.

 

Seeing the tears welling up in his former ward's eyes, Herne patted his hand in reassurance. "Richard maintained my services, even though I was no longer useful to him. But the other keepers would not stop until they were rid of me. They got their chance when some royal jewels went missing. I knew they would accuse me of the theft, so…" The Huntsman let out a shuddering breath. "I took a piece of rope, went into the forest, and hung myself on the oak tree where I used to play with you. I told myself if I were to die, let it be with the memories of the happy times that you and I spent together."

 

"Oh, Herne! I'm so sorry! I should never have left you!"

 

"It's not your fault, Hal. You were but a child then. And, I was weak; I gave in to despair. It was while I was dying, hanging, on that tree that Philip Urswick came to me again, and he finally revealed his true identity to me. Urswick was King Oberon."

 

Hal could not hold back the gasp that escaped his lips.

 

"Oberon, it seemed, has long admired my talents and wanted to acquire my services for the fairy kingdom. He had seen how Richard changed and how he and the others had been treating me. When the keepers went to him for help in their evil scheme, Oberon thought that this was the perfect opportunity for him to have the Great Huntsman he longed desired. Oberon took me down from the oak and said that he needed me for his kingdom, and I said, yes, I would serve at his right hand…on the condition that he would give me the revenge I desire from those keepers who had maligned me and the King who had treated me ill.

 

"Oh, it was a great feat of magic, Hal, what Oberon did! Disguising himself as a peddler, he informed the King that my body was missing and that the oak tree was struck down by lightning. He also said that he saw my ghost, and that I had cursed the keepers for what they did to me. The next day, the keepers all lost their skills. They went to Urswick, not knowing he was the Fairy King, to ask for his aid, and Oberon told them to go to the site of the oak tree at midnight. My…'ghost'…met them there. I ordered them to bring their hunting equipment the next evening. The following night, I took them out on a hunt, tearing through the woods of Windsor Great Park. It was then that Oberon showed his true form to them and demanded payment for their wish to see me stripped of my talents. The payment that the Fairy King asked, no, condemned them to, was that they were to ride with me on the hunt every night for all eternity."

 

"The legendary Wild Hunt," Hal whispered in undisguised awe.

 

"Yes," Herne confirmed with a smile. "Oh, you should have seen us then, Hal, riding through Windsor Great Park with our towering stallions and baying hounds, striking terror in the hearts of those who came across us. There were even a few of Richard's disgruntled subjects who asked to join us. The King decided to put a stop to it and rode out to meet me. I told him that I will not let the Wild Hunt ride out for the remainder of his reign unless he hanged those accursed keepers who had ruined me. Richard kept his word to me and punished those miscreants the very next day. I stayed true to my promise to His Majesty; the Wild Hunt's nightly jaunts came to a halt. But it did not mean that it was the end for us. Surprisingly, more and more people summoned me to express their intention to join my band, many of them the souls of nobles who have gotten the ire of the king and were consequently assassinated or executed. It was only when Richard abdicated that the Wild Hunt resumed."

The Great Huntsman shook his head ruefully. "In retrospect, I should never have made that promise to King Richard. It was we, during our hunts, who discovered traces of Ravenna's shade tainting the King's Windsor estate. I personally made a consequent investigation of the tower in Pontefract Castle where Richard was imprisoned and later murdered and I too found the foul taint of that evil. I informed Oberon of that fact and it was only then that we discovered that Ravenna's shade had indeed escaped the confines of the magical wards it had been incarcerated in. Before Oberon could order us out to find her shade, Queen Snow White told us that she was sending you into the mortal world. Then, I learned about the Queen's…guest." A grimace formed on Herne's thin lips. "He never told me that it was you and that you are heir apparent to the throne of England."

 

"I know," Hal said with a shrug. "Things happened too fast for me as well. I must confess that I hadn't been a good prince or a good son to Father.  I suppose…well, it had something to do with the fact that I saw Richard's body when it was brought to the throne room. Young as I was, I believed that Father had had Richard murdered. I couldn't believe what everyone was saying about him. When he took me with him to Ireland, he was always kind and loving to me, although very sad. But he was saying so many strange things to me, that whatever happens, I should never forget him as he was. I suppose, Richard was aware that he was possessed by Ravenna's shade. The same thing is happening right now to my father. That is why I want to be with him right now and help." He then added reluctantly, "At the same time though, I am…afraid."

 

"Of how your future subjects will look and act upon you with that scar on your face."

 

Hal did not reply at first. He just leaned forward, laying his arms on his thighs, and twiddled his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I guess you already know what I'm going to ask you. The fact that Eric made you speak to me, I believe this is also on his and everyone's mind."

 

"Yes, the fact that I told you my story is already confirmation enough. Oberon CAN heal the wound on his face. However, you should take heed of my narrative. His favors come with a great price. I will not lie to you, Hal. He desires you. He wants you to rule at his side, to replace Queen Titania, with whom he was recently divorced. Oberon sees a worthy Royal Consort in you."

 

"But I cannot be his consort. I have responsibilities to my father and to England…"

 

"Yet, you constantly worry about your face."

 

Hal let out a choked sob. "Forgive me, Herne. I don't want you to think I'm vain, but…"

 

"You fear that the people will not give you the respect that you deserve because of how you will look."

 

The Prince nodded.

 

"I understand how you feel. Back then at Windsor, Richard and the others in his court acted differently toward me, after these antlers were affixed to my head." Herne sighed. "Eric begged me to discourage you from speaking about this with Oberon, and I am apt to advise the same. Instead, I will speak with Oberon on your behalf, to heal you without his making any demands from you."

 

"I would be most grateful, Herne."

 

"But, you must swear to me that you will be careful when you are with him. Never eat anything that he offers you. Fairy food is bespelled and will surely trap you in this realm. Do not fall in love with him either. While Oberon is a good man and a wise king, he is a bit shallow most of the time, and he can be very devious and covetous once he decides that he wants something or someone."

 

"I doubt if I will fall in love with him, since he reminds me of my own drinking companions back at The Boar's Head. But I do think of Oberon as a friend."

 

"And Eric?"

 

A most becoming pout formed on Hal's lips. "Right now, I don't even want to think about him. Truth to tell, just the sound of his name is enough to want me to drive my fist into a wall."

 

Herne laughed. "Well, there's no wall here. I hope you're not intending to hit my face."

 

I know you, Herne," Hal remarked dryly. "If you are still the fighter I know you to be, you'll dodge my blow easily."

 

"True, true!" A rare smile of mischief curled up the corners of the Great Huntsman's lips. "But you know, if you hate him this much, I guess you really do love him."

 

**_"HERNE! HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT?!"_ **

 

To get that appalled expression off his ward's face, Herne pulled Hal to his side and hugged him lovingly. "Just mull on the things I said to you, Hal. I can see that Eric is a good man, and he is truly devoted to you. While there is that matter of your past life together still hanging over your heads, I am sure you can triumph over what misgivings and doubts you have toward each other."

 

"There is just one problem, Herne, and it's big one."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Even if I say that I love him—and please DO NOT consider this as an admission that I care for him—I cannot make Eric my consort. The people already frowned upon the dalliances of previous kings. How would they react if they discover that the future King of England is in love with another man?"

 

It was Herne's turn to find himself caught speechless.

 

There was a sad smile on Hal's face as he stood up, a wistful, lonely expression that spoke volumes. "I thank you for your advice, Herne. I'm very happy that you're still alive and that I am reunited with you again."

 

Even when Hal laughed, Herne remained seated on the bench, pondering the quandary that was the Crown Prince of England.


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter is for Epselion, who made this lovely artwork which I have incorporated here http://epselion.deviantart.com/art/Vanity-shall-cost-you-426651750. Thank you very much, dear!

**A SLIVER OF A POISONED APPLE**

**Copyright February 5, 2014 By Rory**

 

 

**Chapter 17**

 

Oberon was getting very angry and very impatient. Since Titania left him to indulge in her fancy for the human child she had abducted from his parents, the Fairy King wanted to spite his wife by finding a human to take her place on the throne of Sanctuary. In Prince Hal, not only did Oberon find a more suitable replacement for his frivolous queen, he had come to desire the human royal with a passionate fervor which he could no longer deny. Despite his disfigurement, Hal was a beautiful being and his soul was virtually noble and pure, even with his youthful carousing with his unsavory companions.

 

However, the young prince was very skittish around him, brushing off all romantic overtures with a light laugh or a polite, but hasty departure. Oberon tried trickery, offering him fairy food disguised as the normal fare that humans eat. Hal would always decline, saying that he had already eaten some swiped treats from the castle kitchen. Oberon could clearly see the influence of that damned Huntsman and, perhaps, Herne in the Prince's rebuffs.

 

The Fairy King paced furiously inside Snow White's throne room, the only place where he could find some peace and quiet, pondering on what to do with his elusive quarry. The Hunt was on the morrow already and he still had not made significant headway in his wooing of Hal. He could not stay away from Sanctuary for too long because of his responsibilities to his kingdom. But he certainly could not return home without Hal at his side, especially after he had sworn vehemently to Titania that he would replace her with someone more fitting.

 

"Do as Titania had done," a low, echoing, disembodied voice spoke up, drawing Oberon out of his musings.

 

"Who's there?" the Fairy King demanded. "Show yourself!"

 

The voice, however, persisted. "Take the Prince, as your Queen had done with her mortal child. Make Prince Harry of England yours."

 

"No, I cannot do what you're saying! Certainly not something as dishonorable as what you are implying!"

 

"You have done far worse things in your long life than claiming a mortal for your own. If you wish it, let me assist you in this, give you the nerve you so lack in accomplishing the deed."

 

Oberon had been searching through the empty room for that voice, only to realize that it was coming from above him. As he lifted his head, something dark but sparkly dislodged itself from a crack in one of the columns and fell into his eye.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Eric actually had the courtesy to look genuinely abashed when Herne declined William's suggestion to lead the Hunt.

 

Giving Eric a side glance and the tiniest of smiles rising at the corner of his mouth, Herne said, "Your young Huntsman is more than capable of leading the Hunt, Your Majesty. Besides, for once, I would like to enjoy this activity. It has been a very long time, after all, since I was just a participant in a hunting party. The breather would do me good."

 

Despite his words though, Herne still accompanied the Huntsman as he inspected the riding gear, equipment, supplies, and weapons that they were bringing along, offering quiet, discreet suggestions which Eric was only too happy to accept and remember for their soundness. He was in the company of the greatest Huntsman of them all. He would be a fool not to learn all he can from him.

 

The two men had just finished getting Snow White and William settled on their horses when Hal came bouncing out of the castle, looking practically radiant in his leather riding ensemble and beaming ear to ear, obvious even with the white plaster and metal mask covering half of his face. It was like staring at the sun for too long—blinding, but so difficult to turn away from. Herne had to nudge an elbow in his side to bring him back to his senses. Eric had an idea on how he had looked because of the giggles from Adeline, who had taken it upon herself to join them, claiming to all that it would be to their advantage to have Queen Ravenna's abandoned daughter in their company. Beith and his fellow dwarves, riding the supplies-laden mules, were just as amused, their faces cracked by huge comical grins.

 

To the Huntsman's relief, Hal showed no signs of having noticed the dopey expression on his face. Instead, he went about checking the gear and bow and quiver of arrows on his own steed, whistling as he did so.

 

Herne, however, noticed the glances that the Prince was throwing Eric's way, brief looks that were practically begging for an inquiry from the Huntsman. With an exasperated sigh at his fellow's denseness, Herne drove his elbow much harder into Eric's rib, which produced an audible crack.

 

The Huntsman winced at the pain in his side. "Why did you do that for?" Eric demanded, only to be hit on the head by a good-sized rock. As he whirled around to berate the rock thrower, he paused when he saw sharp blue gray eyes peeking above the saddle. Eric did not have to behold Hal's whole face to know that the Prince was scowling at him. Turning to the older huntsman, Herne simply shrugged and pouted his lips in the direction of the angry Royal.

 

"Very well, Your Highness," Eric exhaled in surrender.  "Why are you so happy this morning?"

 

"Harumph!" Hal snorted as he swung himself up on his horse. "It's obvious to me that you're not interested, so why should I even bother to tell you?"

 

"Well, My Prince," Adeline began tactfully, "since the reason why you're very happy also involves him, shouldn't you just tell him?"

 

Although known for his patience, Herne could no longer endure the obstinacy in the Huntsman. He drove his boot heel down on Eric's toes and hissed, "Say something!"

 

Eric bit his lower lip, feeling the crunch of the bones in his toes, and muttered halfheartedly, "Your Royal Highness, would you be so kind as to honor your humble servant with the cause of your radiant smiles this early morn?"

 

"Hmph!" Without looking at the Huntsman, Hal commanded gruffly, "I want you to make ready, Eric. I've just spoken with my father, the King. He has finally agreed that we shall return to England in three days time."

 

Eric exchanged quick glances with Snow White. It was no secret to them that Hal had been badgering King Henry to allow him to go home. While the wound on his face has not yet healed fully, the Prince was very worried for his father, his brothers and the kingdom and wanted desperately to join them in their battles against the rebels. King Henry was equally concerned about his son and preferred that he stayed longer in Tabor. Given this sudden change in plans, it seemed England's poor monarch has been driven to his wits' end by his stubborn son and ultimately gave in to his demands that he be permitted to return home. Given the smug smile twitching at the corners of Hal's mouth, it was all too obvious that he had done exactly that.

 

As the two huntsmen got on their horses, Eric lamented with a roll of his eyes, "I pity His Majesty and the kingdom!"

 

**_"DID YOU SAY SOMETHING, HUNTSMAN?!"_ **

 

Everyone started laughing as an irate Hal turned on Eric, who had wadded up pieces of cotton inside his ears in order not to hear the Prince's tirade. None of them, not even Herne, noticed the very dark expression that crossed on Oberon's face and the glint of glass inside his eye.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hal wanted, more than anything, to enjoy the Hunt. With his return to England only a few days away, he wanted to spend what little time he had left on Tabor with his magical friends. But what should have been a fun, exhilarating hunt was all but ruined by that accursed Huntsman.

 

How dare that blustering oaf make that statement, as if he were a spoiled, willful child making unreasonable demands upon his father? To begin with, he was never spoiled! King Henry was, in fact, stricter with him than his younger brothers, using that damnable Chief Justice and the long arm of English law to keep him in line.

 

If he was being demanding, it was purely for his father's sake. Because he was speaking to Henry almost nightly through Snow White's Magic Mirror, Hal was practically witnessing the King's deterioration, both physically and mentally, right before his eyes. He could only thank the Almighty that He, in his wisdom, had chosen to surround his father with wise and loyal counselors, unlike those who had led astray his cousin Richard. But time was running out for England's monarch. He had to be there to prepare for his assumption to the throne.

 

This was the reason why he was so furious with the Huntsman. Eric just could not see beyond the façade he had created.

 

Despite their frequent bickering, Hal could not deny that Eric's devotion and loyalty to him was true. Inside his chamber back at the castle was a small trunk containing seven masks that Eric had made for him. The mask he was wearing now was the seventh one, made of metal and strong plaster to serve as a better protector for his face wound when out in the woods or in battle. One of the masks was hidden deep inside the trunk. It was more like a thin, pale veil, with tiny crystals in the tightly knit silken weave. But when pressed over his skin, it covered the jagged wound completely, giving the illusion of whole, unspoiled flesh.

 

Muir had revealed to him that the Huntsman also made that particular mask himself with his big, clumsy fingers, with the guidance of some of the fairies in the castle.

 

"A work of love, that mask is," the dwarf had confirmed to him with an emphatic nod. "A work of love."

 

"Love…" Hal pouted as he clicked his horse quietly through the trees. "If he has any…affection…for me, could he not show it in words and not just in deeds? He confuses me. I wonder if he was the same with his Sara." He shook his head briskly. "No, he would've been kinder to her."

 

Lost as he was in thought, Hal never noticed that he was going deeper and deeper into the woods. Neither did he observe the subtle changes in his surroundings; a barely noticeable transformation in hue of the trees and foliage, becoming darker as a cloaking barrier was erected.

 

What brought Hal out of his musings was a blue shimmering light ahead. As he emerged from the trees, he was greeted by a most enchanting sight. Before him was a blue pond, the source of the light he had seen. Its waters were so clear that he could see fishes of varying colors swimming at its sandy bottom.

 

Standing at the pond's edge was a majestic white hart with gorgeous silver branching antlers. What caught Hal's eye was the gold crown around the hart's neck from which a long chain dangled like a broken leash. The hart was staring back at him just as intensely through its startling green eyes.

 

Those eyes…so sad, so mournful, so full of regret. He had seen eyes like these before. But where?

 

"What are you doing here, Your Highness?"

 

Hal whirled at that suave voice to find a smiling Oberon approaching him with bow in hand. "My King, you surprised me!" he said with a tremulous laugh. "I was marveling at this magnificent white hart and…" Hal felt his heart sink when he saw that the stag had disappeared. "Oh, it's gone. You must have frightened it away."

 

Oberon turned him around abruptly so that Hal never noticed the arrow jutting out of the ground where the hart earlier stood.

 

"Your Majesty, what—" Hal blinked at the sight of a now naked Elf King standing before him. "Why are you—"

 

His queries were halted by a deep kiss upon his lips. Hal stiffened instantly, his hands going up between them, but he was afraid to offend the monarch if he pushed him away. Oberon used the Prince's hesitation and indecision to press even harder, his fingertips deftly removing the ties of his mask, so that it fell to the ground, and running over the healing wound.

 

The kiss ended, much to Hal's relief. But Oberon spun him around once more and gently led him toward the pond. Hal gasped, seeing his reflection in the water, his face whole again.

 

As he touched his cheek gingerly, Oberon purred in his ear, "I have merely closed the skin over the wound, Hal. The hollow caused by the arrow still lies open underneath it. Agree to be my Royal Consort and I promise that I shall heal you completely."

 

If he were to be very honest with himself, Hal was sorely tempted to accept the Elf King's proposal, especially now that his beauty was somewhat restored to him. But the image of his poor, sick father kept intruding inside his thoughts.

 

Noting the Prince's renewed hesitation, Oberon pushed him impatiently down to the ground. Hal's protests were halted by a harder, bruising kiss. His alarm grew when the buttons of his jacket opened one by one with magic. He raised both hands to shove the monarch off him, only to have his wrists pinned down on either side of his head. For some reason, although he was just a mere inch shorter than Oberon and they have similarly slender builds, the Elf King was much stronger and heavier.

 

 Unable to break free, Hal twisted his head to the side, breaking the kiss, crying **_"NO!"_**

 

Oberon eased himself up just a bit to be able to glower down at the Prince, his handsome face reflecting his disbelief that a mere human denied his favors.

 

"No?" the Elf King asked, the prolonged vowel sound dripping with warning and menace.

 

"Your Majesty," Hal stuttered at the intensity of the glare of the elf above him, "believe me when I tell you that I am very flattered by your proposal. But I cannot stay in Tabor. England is in turmoil and my father needs me at his side to quell the rebellion."

 

"Why endanger your life in a civil war that has long been in the making since your father usurped the throne from his predecessor? Let him solve the troubles he had instigated. This is his war, not yours."

 

"I am the Crown Prince of England! The kingdom and its people are my responsibility. Whatever mistakes my father has made during his reign, it is my task to rectify them."

 

Strong, harsh fingers dug into Hal's hair and wrenched his head up painfully. Hal reached up to free himself from that hard grip, but the elf swatted his hands away. Hair strands were torn from his scalp as Oberon dragged him back toward the pond.

 

"Will your people love and respect you when they see you looking like this?" Oberon hissed as he forced Hal to look at his reflection on the water's surface once more.

 

Hal stared in shock not only to find his wound reopened, but in a worse state than it was originally. There was a huge gaping cavity where flesh had once been.

 

"Just as I can restore your beauty, I can also take it away and inflict much greater damage upon your face. But if you consent to be my Consort…"

 

**_"NO!"_ **

 

"What…did…you…say?"

 

"You heard what I said." Hal reached for his mask with trembling fingers. "I never understood why my Huntsman could be alternately kind in action and blunt toward me in words. Deeds indeed speak much louder and clearer than flowery words. True, my people may be disgusted by my disfigurement. But I will earn their respect through the good works I will do for them." He pressed the mask to his heart. "Please forgive me, Your Majesty, but this is my final decision. I'm begging you. Let us not part with angry words. Though I cannot be your Consort, I hope you could still accept me as your devoted friend."

 

There was a brief silence and, for a moment, Hal thought that the Elf King had already left him alone.

 

"I'm sorry too, Hal," Oberon spoke up suddenly right behind him, "but I cannot take no for an answer."

 

The Prince turned to plead with the Elven monarch, only to have a sickly sweet smelling dust blown in his face. And then, the darkness shrouded his mind and he collapsed to the ground.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Eric's worry increased by the minute as he wandered through the camp that was being set up. There were still some hunters who have yet to return. While he hoped that the wayward Prince of England was with any of them, instinct was telling him that something was wrong.

 

His distress was shared by Herne, who met him near the supply tent. "Hasn't Prince Harry arrived yet?"

 

"No," Eric said, shaking his head.

 

"I'm sure the lad is fine," Gort declared as he pulled out a large cauldron from a crate. "Give him a breather. You've upset the Prince after all with your idiocy."

 

"I didn't mean to!"

 

"Eric, Harry is a very sensitive soul, even when he was still a child," Herne chided the younger huntsman. "You should not question his intentions. Although his recklessness often gets the better of him, his keen mind should not be questioned nor underestimated." He pulled Eric close. "I know you hold some affection for Harry. But if you want him to be less recalcitrant and more compliant and reciprocate with his own feelings, you should trust him."

 

Eric nodded, though still confused and worried. He knew what Herne told him was true. But there was something else bothering him, something deeper. He had lost Sara; Hal himself nearly died from that arrow wound. Even if Hal had not been wounded, there was the huge gap in their stations. Despite King Henry's approval of him, there was public opinion to consider. Looking at his situation from all angles, he would always be the loser.

 

So, it was better to push Hal back before even greater, deeper emotions took root.

 

Herne must have read his thoughts because the Great Hunter grimaced and muttered ruefully under his breath, "Gort's right. You ARE an idiot."

 

Eric was about to argue in his defense when a white hart crashed out of the brush. The two men had to leap to the side to get out of the rampaging beast's way. As they watched, the stag darted through the camp, tearing down tents and tossing pans, pots, and supplies in the air with its antlers. Soldiers tried to stop the creature with their spears, only to be held back by its flailing hooves.

 

The Seven Dwarves watched the hart in concern.

 

"Muir, is that the same beast that was at the sacred tree with the Queen?" Beith asked, frowning, seeing the great stag down a man who dared to grab the chain dangling from the crown around its neck.

 

"No, this is a different one, similar but…" Muir remarked in perplexity. "…There is something about it…"

 

Somehow, both Herne and Eric regained their wits and pulled out their sword and axe, respectively. They charged at the hart, but stopped at once at the fierce glare from the stag's bright green eyes—eyes with the intelligence of a human!

 

Indeed, as they looked at it, awe-struck, the hart shook its head emphatically in the direction of the forest.

 

At that moment, Snow White came running toward them with a distraught Adeline following at her heels.

 

"Prince Hal is in trouble!" the Queen exclaimed breathlessly.

 

"I felt a magical disturbance in the forest," Adeline put in. "That power…it could only be Oberon."

 

Herne did not dally. He hurried off and then just as quickly returned on horseback, pulling Eric's steed along by its reins.

 

"Oberon is going to take Harry to Sanctuary!" Herne explained urgently. "If he crosses the barrier to the fairy realm and shuts it down, the Prince will be lost to us forever!"

 

Eric did not need to be told what to do. He quickly leaped onto his horse and galloped off, with Herne following close behind him. To his even greater surprise, the white hart went along with them, darting ahead.

 

"It's showing us the way!" Eric yelled at the Great Hunter.

 

Herne did not say anything. His face was pale and grim as he kept his eyes on the hart, focusing in particular on the crown around its neck. Remembering those green eyes, he could barely suppress his shudder at the memory it invoked of the king he once served. Herne shook off these troubling thoughts. Getting Hal back was more important.

 

It did not take long before the two huntsmen at last saw Oberon, also riding at full gallop on his stag. Seated before him was a terrified Hal, his wrists tied together by a magical gold cord.

 

Twisting his body around, Hal raised his bound hands to the men, "Eric! Herne! Help me! Please don't let him take me away!"

 

Gritting his teeth, Eric dug his heels into his horse's sides, urging it to run faster. But it was all for naught.

 

The stag leaped through an oval opening which suddenly shimmered into visibility, carrying with it the Elf King and his captive. The white hart let out a deafening noise of rage and charged at the barrier, forcing the closing gateway to open wide enough with its hooves to allow it entry. Eric and Herne were about to follow suit, but Adeline suddenly materialized before them with her arms raised sideways. Completely forgetting that the girl was a ghost, they jerked on the reins hard, and their horses whinnied and skidded to a halt.

 

"Adeline, what do you think you're doing?!" Eric demanded. "We could've caught up with them."

 

"The barrier slammed shut as soon as the white hart went through," Adeline said grimly. "If you had continued on at that speed, you would've crashed into the barrier and broken your necks as well as that of your horses."

 

"I'm afraid she's right," Herne put in with deep regret and frustration, running his hand over the invisible wall. "The barrier of Sanctuary is impenetrable."

 

"What do you mean?" Eric asked, his heart sinking, even though he already knew the answer.

 

"Hal is Oberon's prisoner." Herne pounded his fist in fury at the barrier. "We will never get him back."

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

The opulence of the Elf King's castle was lost to Hal as he was literally dragged through its cavernous halls.

 

"Oberon, please!" The Prince tried to pull his bound hands free from the monarch's strong grip. "You must bring me back! I'm begging you to understand! I must be with my father! I cannot be your Consort!"

 

They passed by some elves and fairies in beautiful flowing gowns and dresses and courtier outfits. But they were deaf to the Prince's entreaties, merely according Oberon courteous bows.

 

In his fear and panic, Hal did not notice at first that the Elf King was already pulling him up, stumbling, along winding staircases and then entering a small door with yet another narrow flight of stairs, going high up in what was a tower. At the top of it was a thick wooden door with a small barred window.

 

Oberon kicked the door open, releasing the Prince's wrists by dissolving the securing cord with a wave of his hand. Before Hal could seize the opportunity to flee down the stairs, he was flung inside the room and the door locked behind him.

 

Rushing toward the door, Hal pounded on it desperately. "Oberon, don't do this! Please let me out! I cannot stay here! My father is gravely ill and he needs me! Please, Oberon! I must go home to my father!"

 

But there was only hard resolve on the Elf King's angry face. Hal could barely contain his shudder at the sharp glint in Oberon's eye.

 

"I've been very patient with you, Hal, but I could wait no longer," Oberon muttered, low and menacing. "Whether you like it or not, you shall be my Consort. And I will make certain that our union shall be consummated to ensure that you will never leave my side and Sanctuary forever!"

 

 ** _"NO! Oberon, don't do this to me! Please!"_** Hal cried, reaching a pleading hand out to the Elf King through the bars.

 

Oberon, however, simply stormed off without saying another word.

 

With his heart weighed down by fear and despair, Hal curled up on the floor with his back against the door.

 

Pressing his face to his knees, the Prince wept and prayed, "God, please deliver me from this prison! I want to go back home to Father and my brothers! I swear to you I shall fulfill my duties and responsibilities! Just bring me back home!"

 

Then, the image of the Huntsman filled his mind—that gruff, annoying Huntsman whose rare smiles never failed to warm his heart and bring him hope.

 

"Save me, Eric!" Hal whispered hoarsely, as more tears flowed from his eyes. "Please save me!"


End file.
